


Life is good and other lies

by MermaidsandMermen (SophiaSoames), pagnilagni



Series: Familien Evak [21]
Category: Druck | SKAM (Germany), SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Established Relationship, Family Fluff, M/M, Summer Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2020-06-23 22:52:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 46
Words: 148,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19711123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophiaSoames/pseuds/MermaidsandMermen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pagnilagni/pseuds/pagnilagni
Summary: This is a post-canon fic with 20-25 years older characters. It has characters from the original Skam and from Druck, and we hope you can enjoy the entire story as a good story, not just the chapters about the characters you care most about (and we really advise against skipping every other chapter!)Maria and Fredrik are characters from pagnilagni's Norwegian fics about grown up-Evak, set about 15 years after OG Skam ended. For those who have read those stories - unfortunately they are only available in Norwegian - these are the same kids, just about twice as old as last time you met them.(If you are interested, just follow the link to "Familien Evak" in the series tag on top of the fic.)They are twins, born by a surrogate mother with a donor egg and Isak as biological father because of Even's fears about the inheritable factors of bipolarity. In pagnilagni's other fics they are usually around 6-8 years old, in this story they have become 14 - which is of course a blast for everyone involved! They live in Oslo with their fathers.Even, Isak, Matteo and David are characters from original Skam and the German remake Druck.Other characters will be presented as they appear.Pagnilagni writes the chapters with Even and Isak's POV, and Sophia the ones from David and Matteo's POV. There will be changing POVs, written in our regular styles, but with mutual picking into each other's writing. And as the fic is rated Mature, there will eventually be smut.You can expect joys and frustrations, chaos and calm, teen frustrations, rain and sun, mosquitos and moose, coffee and Nutella, as well as massive character development, but still the characters we learned to love during 2015-2017 and 2018-2019 - and they are still loving each other, through everything. Because we believe in endgame and happily ever after.We aim for a couple of chapters per week, more or less, and it will be posted over more than four weeks. Because while we can alwaysplota fic to be posted in semi-realtime with three chapters per ficweek, there is no way the combined us canfollowthis nicely spaced timeline and keep it at those three chapters per week...





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a post-canon fic with 20-25 years older characters. It has characters from the original Skam and from Druck, and we hope you can enjoy the entire story as a good story, not just the chapters about the characters you care most about (and we really advise against skipping every other chapter!) 
> 
> Maria and Fredrik are characters from pagnilagni's Norwegian fics about grown up-Evak, set about 15 years after OG Skam ended. For those who have read those stories - unfortunately they are only available in Norwegian - these are the same kids, just about twice as old as last time you met them.
> 
> (If you are interested, just follow the link to "Familien Evak" in the series tag on top of the fic.)
> 
> They are twins, born by a surrogate mother with a donor egg and Isak as biological father because of Even's fears about the inheritable factors of bipolarity. In pagnilagni's other fics they are usually around 6-8 years old, in this story they have become 14 - which is of course a blast for everyone involved! They live in Oslo with their fathers.
> 
> Even, Isak, Matteo and David are characters from original Skam and the German remake Druck. 
> 
> Other characters will be presented as they appear.
> 
> Pagnilagni writes the chapters with Even and Isak's POV, and Sophia the ones from David and Matteo's POV. There will be changing POVs, written in our regular styles, but with mutual picking into each other's writing. And as the fic is rated Mature, there will eventually be smut. 
> 
> You can expect joys and frustrations, chaos and calm, teen frustrations, rain and sun, mosquitos and moose, coffee and Nutella, as well as massive character development, but still the characters we learned to love during 2015-2017 and 2018-2019 - and they are still loving each other, through everything. Because we believe in endgame and happily ever after.
> 
> We aim for a couple of chapters per week, more or less, and it will be posted over more than four weeks. Because while we can always _plot_ a fic to be posted in semi-realtime with three chapters per ficweek, there is no way the combined us can _follow_ this nicely spaced timeline and keep it at those three chapters per week...

_“Private 3-bedroom cabin in the forest near a lake, the perfect spot away from the busy city life. Enjoy a vacation with your family, friends and pets. No wifi or cable TV._

_The perfect place for a relaxing and quiet vacation._

_Vintage style interior with original pieces of furniture that gives a feeling of home once you step into it. The cabin has everything you and your family needs. 3 bedrooms with 6 beds, bathroom, living room and kitchen. Fully equipped kitchen includes oven, stove, fridge, coffee machine and utensils and cutlery for at least 12._

_There is a garden around the house, with sun spots all day, equipped with garden furniture, playground area and BBQ equipment. Several bikes as well as water toys, baby pool and fishing equipment are available on the premises. There is also a sauna available._

_Rich untouched nature with fairy-tale looking woods, swamps, a lake suitable for swimming and a wide night sky filled with stars. Unforgettable hiking-tracks for true nature lovers, also a wide selection of birds and wild animals can be seen, it's a bird-watchers and photographers dream._

_A little village nearby (10 km away) offers some small shops for basic groceries._

_Pets are allowed, no smoking._

_Family friendly, gay friendly.”_

Isak sighs and reads the text again. This is a good as he will get it. He might have stolen some bits and pieces here and there as he surfed airbnb in frustration after he found out he had accidentally deleted the old presentation of the cabin. The draft he started out with was somewhat different, less polished. Maybe it would have been truer to himself with something closer to the draft, but then it isn’t himself he is letting, but their cabin. He wishes Even was here, but he is busy with a job project tonight and they really need to get this listed now. Yesterday. Last week. He should have done this ages ago.

He had considered asking Vilde to have a look at the text, but decided against it in the end. She would probably just have a lot of suggestions for changes and then she would complain about the photos they had taken. The pictures were nice, of course, but they probably weren’t styled enough, they didn’t tell the right story of a unique cabin experience, but rather a story of someone wanting to get the damned cabin listed, not wanting to spend time fluffing pillows and and putting all the cups the same way on the shelf. Fuck it, he thinks, and clicks publish.

“Pappa! Can you drive me to football practice?” Their 14 year old son Fredrik comes running into the office. He and his twin sister Maria are supposed to ride their bikes to their football practice. It’s not far away, but Fredrik is always late, and Isak almost always ends up driving him. Especially when it’s raining, apparently, Isak can hear the stable sounds of rain hitting the leaves of the tree outside his office.

Maria is probably at the field already. She loves football, at least the practice, and is always there on time with her friends. Almost always.

***

_“Dear isakyaki,_

_We are a family of 5 that would like to rent your cabin in Sweden. I am not sure what kind of presentation you want, but feel free to ask if you want to know more about us. It’s me and my husband and three kids, I suppose there is enough room for us there? Is there a sofa in the living room that one of us can sleep on if necessary?”_

Yeah, yeah, whatever. They seemed legitimate enough. Established profile, positive feedback, there would be payment before arrival, and an extra deposit to cover damage. And they would be staying in the main house themselves for all the period, so it would be limited how much they could trash the cabin, Isak thinks. 

He accepts the request and sends a standard reply back with all the practical information, and marks the cabin as occupied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Pagni and Sophia's little summer project, which we have been excited about for weeks now! We promise huge amounts of both Evak and Davenzi, in their own alternating POV chapters and in each other's. This is ONE story about two of our favourite couples, and while we respect that some of our regular readers won't read it due to exactly this, we hope most of you will enjoy it.
> 
> Are we on to something? Will you follow, although this was perhaps not what you expected of Evak's summer vacation? And who will rent the cabin??


	2. Matteo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Florenzi-Schreibner Family need a change of scenery, and to get away from, well, everything. Find a way back to being normal human beings. Less stress, some good quality family time and, well. Sex. So Matteo had a brilliant idea. Didn't he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Welcome to Pagni and Sophia's Summer fic! Thank you so much for stopping by and for reading our little adventure. We are like childishly excited about this story so we both hope you will enjoy it as much as we are enjoying writing it!
> 
> For those of you who didn't watch Druck, I will put a Spoiler summary in the notes at the end in this chapter to ensure you are able to follow the canon Davenzi-lore that this story will continue with. For those of you who love Davenzi as much as we do, enjoy!
> 
> All the love, always, P and S xxxx

_Best thing in the world waking up with these two. Love you both so much. Andreas 3 months old._

##  MATTEO

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!!” Andreas shouts and sticks his earphones back over his ears.

Matteo doesn’t bother to answer and David just sighs as he tightens Lilly’s seatbelt over her chest in the car seat. She’s grumpy and tired and sweaty and her legs ache, and Matteo knows.

He hadn’t quite thought this out.

He knew it was going to be a long journey, hours and hours of driving, and they had spent an insane amount of money on educational colouring books and bloody sticker books with glittery Unicorns and the damn expensive iPad chargers and holsters to hang them up over the seatbacks and…. Yes, they knew Lottie gets carsick and Lilly just can’t cope and they are all overtired and then it was probably Matteo’s fault for letting them buy loads of sweets on the ferry over the sound, and now the Swedish motorway is driving them all insane. Matteo kind of feels like throwing a tantrum himself, kicking his feet into the footwell and hurling abuse at the neverending road in front of them.

“We should have just booked the train. Done the Interrail thing." David says in the back as he leans forward to grab the packet of tissues next to Matteo’s leg, and Matteo leans in to the touch. It doesn’t come. Not even a little caress of his neck.

He loves his family. Loves it to the point that sometimes he wants to cry into his pillow and pick David up and shake him and just scream that this, this is all he ever dreamt of and please please please don’t leave me.

Not that David has ever said he would leave. Not that there is anything wrong with their marriage. Not that anything is wrong. Yet everything is wrong.

Things just change when you have been together as long as David and Matteo have. They met at school, and then they messed about for a year or two before they got stupidly drunk one weekend and didn’t leave their bed for days.

He knows. They both knew, and then they panicked and screamed at each other and there were tears.

So many fucking tears.

He remembers very little from that year, when David had to come off the hormones and there was so much anger and resentment and fear. Fuck they had been so fucking scared, both of them.

Then they had Andreas and Matteo wouldn’t change a thing. He reaches out and strokes the blond mop of hair on his son’s head. Laughs to himself as he always does. He did that. He somehow created this human being next to him, who looks nothing like David. There seems there was no DNA from David at all in that joining of genes that created the stunning boy sitting next to him. Because Andreas looks like a carbon copy of Matteo and he still gasps for breath sometimes when his son stares at him, because all he can see is his younger self. When the Matteo he is now is all greying and eyes lined by crows’ feet, and he needs the dentist because he’s probably cracked another filling, which will be another ridiculous bill to pay, and yeah. He has a family. A gorgeous gorgeous family.

“I love you,” he says to the rear-view mirror and David looks up for a second. He can hear the little sigh, but also, there is a little twinkle in his eye.

“Love you too,” he says back, whilst still trying to wipe Lilly’s face with the tissue to cool her down. “We should probably stop in a bit, let the girls run around for a while. It’s roasting hot back here.”

He nods to himself. Mouths “Okay” in the mirror and winks. Which makes David smile.

David. His gorgeous dreamy boy.

He’s still the same. Still that irresistible smile that lights up his face. Still has all that messy hair, that he cuts into a buzz, only for it to grow back into an unruly mane within days. He has a full neatly trimmed beard these days, and his broad shoulders barely fit between the two girls, the front of his t-shirt soaked in sweat.

“You OK?” Matteo asks quietly, and David nods. He reaches under his t-shirt and scratches. It’s more like a habit than need now, but it’s been the most horrible couple of years.

David had his top surgery years ago, and it had never been a success. Infection after infection hadn’t helped his already unbearable stress levels, and his hormones being all over the place had created complications. On top of that he had started a new job, and managing parenthood had been a disaster, but Andreas had still somehow managed to grow into the gorgeous human being he is today. Not thanks to Matteo, because he still feels like the worst father in the world. He has no idea what he is doing, and he has probably failed as a husband too.

He had always been a disaster. One after another.

Whilst David had retreated into depression and tried to push everyone away.

Things were better now. Things had to be, because this, the way they had survived the last couple of years, was not something Matteo wanted to ever live through again. No more. It stopped now. They were going to have a month’s holiday and get to know each other again. Grow as a family. Love each other. Have sex.

Matteo wants sex. More than anything.

  
  


Lottie and Lilly came into the world six years ago and Matteo had cried. Buckets.

They had survived, of course they had. But it wasn’t easy, and David being out of action most of the last year had meant that the girls had spent a lot of their time curled up in bed with him, whilst Andreas withdrew into anger and angst, and Matteo worked until his body seemed to collapse into bed every night, pressing a lame kiss to David’s forehead as the girls thrashed around in their bed and kicked him in the balls.

Something had to give. Something had to change.

“I’ll pull over here,” he says, turning the car into a small wooden clearing overlooking a lake.

“Good,” David says, sounding defeated.

“Can we talk?” Matteo says quietly. “When the kids are out of earshot?”

David just shoots him a worried glance. This has to stop. He can’t live like this anymore.

It’s almost peaceful for a minute or two, where the girls are paddling in the shallow water and actually not fighting for attention, and Andreas is lying flat on the ground, his earphones still over his head. The sun is drawing little patterns over his pale face as the tree branches move in the wind above him.

“Isn’t he the most handsome thing ever?” David says softly, sitting down next to Matteo on top of the rickety picnic table that is no longer suitable for anything else than sitting on. The road far behind them almost silent despite the occasional car passing at speed.

It’s safe, talking about the kids. Complementing the weather. Discussing dinner.

“We need to stop this,” Matteo says quietly, looking straight at his husband. David. His David.

“I know,” he whispers. “I just don’t feel like myself anymore. Almost like I have lost myself in being a parent and not working and just being sick all the time.”

“You are doing so well. Don’t put more pressure on yourself, but this holiday, I need us to talk babe.”

It’s hard getting the words out. And nothing has ever changed. David hides and runs away from their problems. Matteo chases him all over the shop, beating himself up with guilt.

“I want to get back to normal." David says quietly, swatting a stubborn fly away from his arm. "I want to take Andreas running in the mornings, and I want to spend time with him. I want to play football with the girls. I want to sit topless in the sun and not feel so damn conscious about the scars and my wonky nipple.”

“Your nipple is not wonky and nobody gives a fuck about some scars. You are beautiful. Despite all this shit, you are still the most stunningly handsome man I have ever met.”

He means that as well. David. His David.

There has never been anyone else. Nobody has ever caught his eye or turned his head. It’s been so easy with David. The way he has always known that this was it. That the man who sits with his back hunched next to him, playing nervously with his fingers, is the only thing that matters.

“I don’t know how you have stuck with me. I know this hasn’t been easy for you,” David says quietly.

“I would do it all over again if I had to. I would have made the same choices and the same mistakes and I would always have chosen you,” he replies. It’s the truth. He means it. Every fucking word.

“Then give me some time to find some peace with myself. Just help me get my head straight. I just don’t know what I am supposed to do with myself right now.”

It breaks Matteo’s heart to hear him talk like that, but at the same time, he knows. He knows how hard this has been, how battered David’s body is and how this isn’t quite the future they had planned.

“I love that we made it. I love that you stood by me too, with my crazy swings in career choices, and stupid study plans and that you supported me when I was so broke that I couldn’t even buy you a bread roll for breakfast. You still loved me and fed me and hugged me when I cried.”

“I can’t believe you pulled it off and graduated. My little Gynaecologist.”

“On paper. Yeah. But in real life I stitch people up and assist on the occasional C-section. I’m the most junior Gynae surgeon, and I will be doing the shit jobs for years before I even get near something juicy.”

“You pervert.” David laughs and Matteo’s stomach does a little jolt of laughter.

“I only did it so I could get my kicks,” he laughs.

“I know, despite all your shit lies, I know you only did it for me,” David says softly. “I know all you wanted was to learn more and more so you could help me achieve the impossible. And don’t put yourself down, because you help people every day. The support clinic you run, the hours you put in on the Trans helpline, the overtime for your charity work.”

“I do it for you, but also for the kids. I don’t want our kids to ever worry about being themselves. If they have a problem, they need to be able to talk, if not to us, there needs to be someone for them. Someone to listen.”

He sounds like one of his own stupid taglines. He barely talks to his son, and when he does, he is only met with grunts and foul language. His daughters are little shits. And he’s not always sure his husband loves him anymore.

“I love you,” David says. “And this was, however stupid, a good idea.”

“I know.” Matteo grins into the sun and let’s his sunglasses drop down to shield his eyes. “I always have the best ideas."

__

_Andreas and Vati. Gorlitzer Park, Berlin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILER ALERT for those who haven't seen Druck, the German version of SKAM. Druck's season 3 sees Matteo (Isak) take on aspects of both the Even and Isak role, in a twist that threw everyone for a loop. It only dealt with mental health issues through Matteo's obvious depression, and his mother's issues that stayed Canon to the Skam story. Matteo meets David, falls in love and comes crashing down when David tells him that he is transgender, born in a girls body. He is a boy, he just needs to try a little harder. So if Matteo is what he thinks he is, and he is in love with David, then does that make him gay? Who the hell is he supposed to be now?  
> It is a beautiful storyline and your heart will fall apart, and mend itself together throughout the 10 weeks of Matteo finding a little light in his very dark life.
> 
> So, in this story David has had his top surgery, but not his below the belt surgery, although he is on testosterone and easily passes for a man. FTM transgender men can fall pregnant, rare, but possible. David and Matteo being young and with all the imaturity that comes with being in love, having sex and youth? Things happened.  
> Remember, this is a story, something we have made up in our heads. We have tried to research as much as we can, and whilst you may not agree or feel comfortable with the situation that David and Matteo in this universe, find themselves in, it is just what it is. A story. 
> 
> If you want to watch Druck, all episodes with subtitles can be found on www.drucktranslations.de. No VPN needed.


	3. Isak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Valtersen/Næsheim familiy are on their way to their vacation house. The kids are grumpy, actually they all are grumpy, the mood in the car isn't the best. But they get there. They do. And eat and chill and collapse in bed. And wake up to.... chaos?

__

Maria is grumpy as ever. Isak can see more and more of himself in her. Even Sana commented it the other day. “No doubt she’s your by heart and soul, Izzy.” He made a grimace back at her; his younger self would probably snarl, but he is older now. Smarter. Wiser. More mature. Right.

“Maria, can you please at least pick up the trash you have been littering the floor with since we left home?” She rolls her eyes back at him.

“Maria! Body language!” Fredrik chimes in. He is exactly as old as her, or a few minutes younger, to be exact, but their minds have kind of split over the past years and they are mentally at least two years apart.  
“Fuck you,” she mumbles as she leaves the car and slams the door.  
“Language, Maria! And can you please pick up the litter after you?” Isak crosses his arms and looks determined at her.  
“I need to pee. Do you want me to pee my pants?” She stares at him.  
“Go to the bathroom, then. Come back and pick up afterwards.”

She rolls her eyes again and runs towards the cabin.

It’s their third summer at this cabin. They inherited it after Even’s aunt Bella, an old lady who had been living her for her entire life. It used to be a farm until she stopped having cattle twenty years ago. Even never spent time here as a kid, but when she suddenly died he had surprisingly inherited it, and they decided to keep it. The farm houses were well kept: a red two-storey house with four bedrooms and a modern bathroom upstairs, and a huge kitchen with a proper dining area, and a living room downstairs, as well as a big patio and a roofed deck facing the evening sun over the nearby lake. The garden surrounds it all, filled with apple trees, cherry, blackcurrants, raspberries, rhubarb and a lawn they have given up taming, so it has become a flowering field of everything and anything.

Then there is The Cabin, which used to be the farmhands’ house. Aunt Bella saw its possibilities and potential years ago, and promptly refurbished the house. There are now three bedrooms, all decorated in light grey and blue, old creaky bed frames with quilts and white linen, bathrooms, a small living room, and a vintage looking farmhouse kitchen facing the garden. 

She started letting it as a farm holiday house for families in the late eighties. She let families live there and take part in the farm life - feeding, milking, cleaning, gathering eggs, everything. After she quit her farm, it became a summer rental house, simple yet clean, void of internet and TV - amenities she never had, and that the cable company never bothered providing there. They had continued to let it with Airbnb, but not during the high summer when they were there themselves. They enjoyed the silence and the solitude, they didn’t want other people to interfere with them for the few weeks they spent there.

The house is at the end of the road in the middle of nowhere in the Swedish forests, some 10 kilometers from the nearest village, a couple of kilometers from the neighbours. It’s quiet there, not a sound beyond the bees and wind, the waves from the lake when it blows towards them. The lake is about 200 meters from them, a narrow path winding through the garden and bushes, a small sandy beach visible from the edge of the patio where they let the kids go alone, the lake is shallow and safe, the water clear above the sand bottom.

Next to the lake there is a tiny sauna, thick walls, a stove and a couple of benches. It’s dangerous by today’s standards, but they have kept it as a monument of old traditions although they haven’t had time to use it properly. It takes too much time to heat, and they never seem to have those hours alone.

There are other places, too. A small waterfall where the river passes the hills to the north of the farm, with deep pools, dark stones along the edges, like benches in the lukewarm water after a sunny day. The field that magically opens between the dark trees when you choose the other path. The cave in the hill.

Isak can imagine being a kid here during summer. Exploring the terrain, finding his own places, hiding, peeking. Even never did that, obviously, but he silently hoped Maria and Fredrik would find their summer paradise here. Their places, their secret getaways. Building memories.

But he is not convinced. It just feels like they fail every year they get here. The first summer they all played around. Took the kids exploring, initiated activity, cheered when the kids wanted to do something on their own. In the evening they asked if they could watch TV, but alas, no signal. No internet. They coped, though, playing outside some more, reading books, playing old board games from a pile they found in the living room.

The year after they were better prepared. The pile of books was bigger, they brought their game consoles, more stuff for drawing. The kids built treehouses, made a fort in the garden, learned to swim in the lake, enjoyed the village at their twice-weekly trips to get fresh food and entertainment in the form of other humans.

The third year was a nightmare. The spring had been awful, too much stress and work and colliding school events and work events, and they all ended up with a cold before they went nevertheless. Then they got a stomach bug, one at a time, so they spent almost two weeks with one of them being sick in one way or the other. Then the weather became horrible, with loads of rain, and the roof started leaking, so they had to make emergency repairs themselves - Isak vividly remembered neither him or Even being very eager to climb a roof, Isak might have yelled something along the lines of “why didn’t you climb a roof instead of running around naked?” at Even at some low point. They had called a carpenter the next day.

And now it’s the fourth year, and the kids have been complaining about lack of internet for the past half an hour in the car. Isak sighed in frustration when he discovered the 4G coverage was gone, they only had a crappy EDGE connectivity he didn’t even dare to measure the speed of. He doesn’t know what has happened to it, it used to work even out here.

Maybe the holidays are a mirror of their lives. It somehow seems to have become worse over the past year, with more stress, more chaos, more stuff to do, more complications, sometimes the world is just spinning and he can only hold on to it.

Even hasn’t been severely sick for a few years now, and in theory he should function well. But the projects has kind of stopped coming in, and this spring he has only done a couple of small jobs for a grocery store chain, far from his regular clients. He hasn’t talked much about it, but Isak fears he is exhausted, that his brain can’t think either. The signs are too well-known, the tiredness, the apathy, the way he doesn’t take initiative to anything, the lack of responsibility.

Unfortunately they are two. And unfortunately they are as bad at talking as they were when Isak was 17.

The only substantial thing they have talked about over the past months is money. With Even’s wallet drying up, they have to rely at Isak’s, and as a university professor, he doesn’t make that much even when working his ass off. He is supposed to take the time off next semester, even if he needs it NOW. Or the money, if it only gave some extra cash, he would work his ass off anytime, just to avoid the shallow breathing when yet another bill he had forgotten about arrives. It’s not that they are poor, because they are not. They can pay their bills, they can buy clothes, the kids can do soccer and karate and arts and piano lessons and whatever, but not having the little extra stresses him.

So when his husband had suggested they let the cabin during their own holidays, Isak was fully on board. They decided to let it for a few weeks in July, and it didn’t take long before someone was interested, obviously he had set the price too low, despite Even insisting it was his excellent photographic skills that saw the place rented within days. The renters didn't even question the lack of internet connection or cable TV, and while the cabin itself was modern, the surroundings were not.

Originally they planned to go there after the guests had been there, so they could have the place to themselves as they were used to. But then Even suddenly got an interesting project starting in August, and Isak had exams and academic conferences scheduled until the end of June, so it was July or nothing, and now they are here. 

Two grumpy fathers, two grumpy children, no internet.

“We don’t have to be social.” Even said as they crossed the border into Sweden. “The patio and the veranda face off the cabin, we can spend the time there.”  
“Who are they, do you know that?”  
Even shrugged. “Not really. An Italian family, I think, from the name. Probably loud.”  
“Weren’t they from Germany?”  
“Dunno? Florenzi? Isn’t that more like Italian?”  
“No idea. Maybe they live in Germany. Bakkoush isn’t especially Norwegian either.”  
“Good point.”

The silence in the car was thick. Maria and Fredrik were listening to music in the backseat, Isak no longer knew what they liked. Maria might have his mood, but she certainly didn’t have his taste in music, with the Justin Bieber like clones whining from her Spotify. Maybe if he told her they had the same kind of music when he grew up, she would find something different, he thought.

Fredrik was different, easier. Less grumpy, more stable, go with the flow. He was usually content with whatever he got, unless he wasn’t, and then it was usually a matter of food. Which he needed a lot of. He could easily eat five slices for breakfast, then ask for more two hours later. So just remember bread, and he’d be happy. Bread and cheese and jam. And Nutella. Easy. 

But he was somehow changing, too. His face was grumpy when Isak observed him through the rear mirror. He looked at his phone and frowned. “I have no internet connection, dad!”  
“Yes.” Isak tried to be calm. It was the fifth time in as many minutes he had asked now. Isak had told them to download whatever music and audio books they wanted for the trip before they left, but alas.  
“But I need to go online!”  
“I told you to download before we left, Fredrik.”  
“I know! But…”  
“Enough.” Even sounded frustrated. “Can you please just be quiet, all of you? Isak, do we have any cold water? It’s too hot here!” And it was. It was one of the warm days, 35 C outside and the air conditioner in the car couldn’t cope with it when they drove in this bloody queue. Isak had no idea why there was a queue. No traffic announcements, no news, just the red roads on google maps, and the map was obviously right as they moved at 10 km/h.  
“I think there is a gas station a few kilometers further, let’s stop there,” Isak said.  
“A few kilometers, right. Can you tell us when we’ll get there too, brainiac?” Evens’s voice was annoyed.

Isak looked out of the window. His eyes were sore. He wished he had some cold drinks here now, something to save the mood, to make them happy. But all he had was a bottle of lukewarm mineral water, fizzing all over his hands and pants as he opened it to hand it to Even.

Half an hour later they finally got to the gas station. The kids ran inside to go to the toilet. Even remained by the car, not saying anything, and Isak was apparently expected to dig out his card and get them something to eat. Preferably something nutritious and healthy, no sugar and lots of fiber. He casted a long glance at Even, waiting for him to say something, to express a wish, to come with him. He didn’t meet his eyes. With a sigh Isak followed his kids inside the station. 

Ten minutes later they were on the road again. The kids were licking their huge, dripping ice cones in the backseat, soda bottles were rolling, he had his coffee and a bun, and Even was sighing as he looked at his high-sugar Coke and the hotdog Isak had given him. “You couldn’t find something _more_ unhealthy, could you?”  
Isak breathed out between tight lips. “You could have come inside with me. Decided for yourself, expressed a wish at least. It’s the buyer’s choice.”  
“I needed some time alone. You know that.”  
“Well, don’t complain that I feed you then, when you can’t yourself.”

***

The gravel road the last mile between the trees is like it was last year, more narrow than the main road where their mailbox is, grass growing between the tracks, trees leaning along the sides. The shadows are long, it is later than they expected. 

The road looks unused, but they know one of the neighbours have been there, he is taking care of their place when they are not there. Making sure the house is in decent shape, checking the cabin between guests, makes sure the cleaning service do their job. He does a good job, at least one thing that works in their life, Isak thinks.

The car comes to a halt in front of the house. The doors open and they all get out.

The air is somehow thinner her, fresher, crisper, it smells different. Not just the lack of car exhaust and human smells, neither is it just the smell of trees and flowers and soil. It’s so different that it feels like another world somehow. Isak breathes in and out, in and out, and it feels like this is something they can manage after all. 

***

Isak sleeps late next morning. They had carried everything inside when they arrived, the kids had a swim in the lake, they had some pasta and sauce from a jar, a few beers, didn’t talk, then went to bed and fell asleep.

Now he is alone in bed. The sun shines through the windows, it was probably what woke him up. Or maybe it was the sound, the noise, the voices. There are many of them, more than three. Clinking glasses, clattering of plates, the sound of something falling down. Loud voices, giggling, laughter, he tries to separate them, he can hear Even, but he doesn’t recognize the others.

He puts on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, the one from yesterday, he hasn’t unpacked his bag yet, but he gives it a light sniff before he pulls it over his head, it will do until he has had a shower. 

As he slowly walks down the stairs, the voices get louder, and the smell of fresh bread gets stronger. There is at least one other man than Even, he laughs and talks a lot. Maybe there is another one as well, there is a low laughter that sounds masculine. And then there are smaller kids there, he gets flashbacks to when Maria and Fredrik were younger, their happy, careless sounds, no worries. Maria and Fredrik are also here, he can hear their banter now, and there is another one, a boy, probably.

His mouth is watering, he craves bread now. He can just imagine Even baking, getting up early to make a quick dough, or maybe he did before they went to bed yesterday, he would honestly not have noticed. His big hands kneading the dough into bread, usually a couple of them, and rolls, loads of rolls being shaped under his fingers.

Isak peeks through the small door opening. The kitchen is full of people. The six chairs around the table are all occupied, and they have moved a couple of foldable chairs from the deck inside. Two men and three kids in addition to his own people. Two bread baskets on the table, still rolls and slices left, cheese, ham, something resembling the mouth watering salami he ate when he was at that conference in Rome a few years ago. Nutella, he shakes his head when he sees that the jar is already half empty.

He opens the door and walks inside the kitchen. He tries to approach them in silence, he doesn’t want a lot of attention right now. Silently he tries to make eye contact with Even, tries to find out what this is, but he is too busy talking to the darkest of the men, a smiling man with a dark mop of hair, they are looking at a phone, probably at pictures, Isak thinks.

“Hello.”  
His voice is hoarse. He looks at Even and the other man who barely nods at him, his own kids with the oldest stranger kid, the two small girls who are occupied smearing shit or nutella across their faces while apparently making a donut from a slice of polar bread. 

“Coffee?” A blue eyed man looking about as tired as himself approaches him with a steaming espresso cup in hand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hear some cheering from a distance now, finally, Evak! We promised Evak, you will have Evak. Chillax.
> 
> So, have they met their German counterparts now? Or are these people lost travellers, hitchhikers, perhaps, random strays who will occupy the cabin before the other family arrives?
> 
> Eager to hear your thoughts!


	4. Matteo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matteo needs to sleep, David and Even are bonding in some kind of breakfast haze and this Isak-guy just won't shut up...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go....

_Lottie Lilly and Andreas. <3 Vati was asleep, and Papi tried to take some nice photos of you all send to our families. He did a good job._

## MATTEO 

“Coffee?” the man replies. He’s tall. Strong and muscular with days worth of gruff around his face. He looks like he should be wearing a helmet with horns and body armour, whilst appearing in an action sequence on something like Game of Thrones. Matteo knows better, though. The dude is overworked, anxious and tired, and now he has woken up to an impromptu breakfast party that his husband, this Even dude, has decided to throw at 9 in the morning on a Sunday. 

The guy needs a valium and a weeks worth of sleep, and if Matteo had one in his pocket he would have happily shared it with him and dragged them both out to the big hammock for two in the garden which looks so inviting that Matteo could cry. 

They have driven most of the night, because they got delayed and the motel that David had looked up, turned out to have been turned into a Pizzeria 10 years ago. So Matteo just kept driving whilst David and the kids had slept. Not that David slept much, he kept asking to take over the driving, kept asking to stop. Kept pleading with Matteo to think of himself. Matteo pulls all-nighters at work all the time, and he knows his limits. They drove. And it was worth it, because now David is laughing at something this Even has said, and Even. Wow. Tall AF, and handsome as they come and bloody charming, but he’s wired. Talking animatedly with his hands and explaining things and his mind is flipping backwards and forwards between subjects to the point that Matteo has trouble following him. 

And by the look on Isak, because Matteo assumes this is Isak, this is nothing new. Because Isak just rolls his eyes at the chaos and gratefully accepts the cup of coffee in Matteo’s hand. 

They brought their own coffee. Because Matteo, despite being the world’s worst specimen of a gay man, much too David’s constant delight, is a coffee snob. He might not be able to dress himself to save his life, has never figured out how to work an iron, his gaydar has never been wired correctly and he has refused to watch a single episode of Say Yay to the Gay, or Queer as Folk or Queer Eye, and most of all, his idea of high class interior design comes in the form of the IKEA catalogue. Yeah. Disaster. But he likes good coffee, and the Italian genes in him will revolt with retching and disgust at anything less than Bristot’s espresso that he orders online, then groans at the bill. It’s his weakness and David will stroke his cheek and giggle as he stomps the delivery box into a flat mess and puts it in the recycling.

“Matteo Florenzi” He says and reaches out to shake the man’s hand.

“Valtersen. Isak.” The guy replies then kind of swoons. “This is not that Gevalia shite, what is it?”

“Bristot Diamante Espresso Cremoso Italiano.” Matteo says, in his best Italian accent, using his hand to emphasise the need for such extravagant coffee in the morning.

He laughs, the man in front of him. A head full of thick unruly hair, and a laugh that makes Matteo smile. He’s a kind man, and obviously from the smile he shoots at his husband, he loves as passionately as he drinks his coffee. Knocking it back in one go then holding the cup out to Matteo, exclaiming that there needs to be more of that for him to actually wake up, and what the hell have they done to his children?

The two Norwegian teenagers are sitting at the table, the girl helping Lilly with her sticker book, and the boy is engrossed in something on Andreas’ phone. 

“I see you have met Fredrik and Maria.” Isak says and looks intrigued. 

“This is Andreas,” Matteo tries, and Andreas doesn't even look up. It’s no use even trying, Matteo knows that. “And that is Lilly and Lottie. Lilly has the longer hair, and Lottie has a freckle on her cheek, that’s the best way of telling them apart. To be honest the hair thing is for us as much as everyone else. I sometimes struggle to tell them apart.”

“Twins,” Isak says, looking distant for a moment. “I feel your pain.”

“Maria, and Fredrik? How old?” Matteo asks. 

His English is good, but he still doesn't feel completely comfortable speaking it like this. All casually. Chit chat. Social talk. He’s not much of a social person, and thank fuck David isn't either. They don’t do big dinner parties or go out much. 

“They are both 14,” Isak replies and raises his hand, fistbumping Matteo. “Twins. Welcome to hell.” 

It’s nice to laugh. Maybe this won’t be so bad, however awkward this impromptu breakfast date is. To be honest Matteo just wants the key to their cabin, so he can go and faceplant in the pillow and tie the twins to their bed so they can’t escape, and read Andreas the riot act and if he is honest, he would love to drag David into bed with him and make sure he sleeps for a few hours. He’s tired. Weary. Despite the laughter spilling out of David’s mouth.

“This is my husband, David,” he says instead.

“And the idiot burning the scrambled eggs, is my husband, Even. I suppose you have met.”

Even winks at Isak. And it’s nice, because there is warmth. So much love in just one look, and Matteo feels a sting of jealousy. They used to be like that. Just the way the room would grow warmer when David looked at him. How his stomach would jolt when David smiled. It still does, it’s just more subtle. Calmer. Distant. 

Lottie shrieks at something and the eggs are definitely burning, and Even swears and Andreas howls at the phone whilst the boy, Fredrik laughs like he is evil. Some reaction video no doubt. 

“Shall I show you the cabin?” Isak sighs, like he is defeated. Like this is just how things are going to be. Chaotic. Weird. Too many people. 

“I’ll just grab more coffee,” Matteo replies. More caffeine. Preferably intravenously. Buckets of it. 

He fills their two cups and slides out into the hallway, quietly following Isak out onto the veranda. 

“You Italian?” Isak asks.

“Half Italian, Dad’s from Rome, Mum’s German. Always lived in Berlin, but Dad made sure we could speak the lingo. He lives there now. New family, new kids. We don’t see them enough.”

“Bummer.” Isak’s voice sounds strained. “I spent years struggling to have a relationship with my parents, it wasn’t good. Now, it’s better. I can deal with it now, when I was in my twenties things were god damn hard.”

“Because you were gay?” Matteo should just shut up. This is not how you socialize. Fuck him. Fuck all this. He’s too tired. Too worn out. He just needs to sleep. He knows better than to be insensitive and rude. It’s his job to know this shit. And he meets someone new and straight away, BAM. He fucks it up.

“Nah, they were fine with that, and they have always loved Even like a son. He’s easy to love, my Even, all entertaining and all over the place and charms the hell out of everyone. No, it was more me. I’m a grumpy fucker.”

“Tell me about it.” Matteo’s laugh is hollow. “I have been up for 24 hours and I can barely function. Thank god for coffee.”

“Good start to the holidays.” Isak reaches out and clinks his cup against Matteo’s. “I should have offered you a beer then.”

“Beer would have been good, but I need to hit the sack for a few hours at some point, or I will be the grumpiest fucker you have ever met.” 

“I’ll save the beer for later then,” Isak winks. 

The cabin is great. Beds. Kitchen. Bathroom. Essentials. A small veranda with chairs. Sunshine. 

It’s good, and Matteo takes a deep breath. They can do this. They can stay here, and eat and sleep and live. They can scream at each other in peace. He will be able to sleep. Please let him sleep.

“I’ll leave you to chill. “ Isak says, leaving the keys on the table. 

“I need to go get some food later, if you wouldn’t mind giving me directions. “ 

“It’s a Sunday, dude, nothing will be open for miles. There is a petrol station, about 40 minutes away, but they barely sell more than milk and sweets. Sometimes bread but it’s never fresh.”

“Fuck.” Matteo rubs his forehead. “Is there a pizza place? McDonalds?” 

“We’re in the mosquito infested wild west out here, nothing for miles worth eating unless you are a moose, and we tried the bark. Not tasty.” 

Isak is a dork. Matteo likes him already.

“Chill, dude,” Isak continues. "There are meatballs, bread and stuff in your fridge, and to be honest, Even, you will get to know Even, he never lets anyone go hungry. I have no doubt him and that husband of yours are already plotting some kind of obscene over the top dinner party and grilling hotdogs by the lake and all kinds of shit that you and I will be the last ones to know about. That’s the way things usually go around here."

Shit. Matteo thinks. Meatballs? Here around this small kitchen table, overlooking the lake in the distance. That he can do. Socializing with strangers? Too many kids? Far too little sleep?

“Sounds good,” he says. 

It sounds like hell, but whatever.

_Lottie 18 m, at our flat in Moabit._


	5. Even

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even's perspective on the beginning of this relaxing vacation.

Even is exhausted.

It’s all of it. All the stress. The mess with work. Projects that failed, were delayed, were snapped by someone else. The urge to hide ideas and thoughts from his competitors, in fear that they would steal them from him. Decreased income, time for perfection, too much time to think about work, clients, family, Isak, the world, life, everything. Some days his head was just spinning, or maybe the brain was spinning while the skull was still, because when he looked in the mirror he just seemed normal. His dull face, dull hair, dull smile, the same clothes, his blue eyes, he wasn’t sure what he saw in them anymore.

He is not sure anymore if this is just tiredness or if he is sliding into something bigger.  
He just can’t find energy to sit down and feel it, and he kind of knows that should be a sign, if he could just wrap his mind around systemizing it. He has relied too much on Isak, he has slowly taken over so many of the controls in Even’s life by simply being a step ahead. And it has been comfortable. Isak has never tried to control him, never tried to force him into something, maybe except a few stays with his parents when the kids were babies and Isak couldn’t cope with them all. God, the kids, he loves them, they are the lights of his life, lighthouses, light fountains, sparkles, glitter, he loves them so much. They have truly transformed his life, their lives, everybody’s lives. Their smiles, their laughter, the small victories when they learned new skills, sometimes it was something new every day.

But now they sometimes feel like a burden. And he feels like an even bigger burden for feeling that, because he knows it’s his fault. He is the one to blame, if he was a well-functioning mentally healthy dad it wouldn’t be like this. Then he could follow them up, adjust to them, help them adjust.

The trip yesterday had been exhausting. The noisy kids, Isak’s worried glimpses in the car, his eyes when Even didn’t want to talk, the too loud music blasting from the radio and nobody cared to turn it down. The fighting in the back seat, he didn’t know about what, he just tried to lock it all out and concentrate on driving. Isak’s heavy sigh when he asked him to please pull over and stop because we need air, can’t you hear that? The frustrated bangs from the doors as the kids climbed out, silence in the car, the feeling of the steering wheel to his forehead, the silence, calm, he had to find it. The bubble that burst by the loud sound from the car horn when he leaned in too heavily on it.

He loves this cabin. It was instant love, love at first sight, the feeling of coming home, when they first got here after aunt Bella’s testament had so generously gifted it to them. She was this aunt he had always heard distant tales about. A Christmas card here and there, her farm in the middle of nowhere, whispering voices when the kids came too close at a family reunion, _what would Bella do_ , they never met her, for some reason a trip to her place was never something they planned. He’s quite sure now that she was as sane as anyone, just mad hopping eccentric and full of unusual quirks. She had done well. Even thinks he would have liked her.

Then there are the guests. He had been reluctant when Isak suggested it. No, not reluctant, He had felt an intense resistance against doing it, against letting anyone else into his place. Their place. Let anyone else see his hidden places. Catch him by the stone, the place Isak never bothered to go to because he was lazy as fuck and didn’t want to fight the mosquitos to get there. Explore the tracks he used to walk. Look into the old barn full of stuff from Bella, he had unpacked and cleaned out some of her stuff, but there were still loads left.

But he likes David. Really really likes him. It clicked when they met, he sees something in his eyes that reminds him about himself, although he can’t really put a name on it. There is something in them, similar but different.

They had arrived in the early wee hours. He had heard the car come to a halt, the crackling of tyres against gravel, checked his watch, he knew they would arrive today, but he expected them to come in the afternoon, since they were driving from Italy. Or Germany, as it turned out. Steps on the driveway, a face peeking in through the small window next to the door as to check if anyone was at home, then a soft knock at the door. He startled the guy outside by opening it as he knocked, he said something in German he didn’t understand while taking a step back.

“Good morning. We.. we have rented a cabin here?” he then asked in English, maybe wondering if they had actually managed to drive to the right place.  
“Yeah, yeah, come in. I will get the key.” 

Even had waved him inside and turned to go get the key, wherever he had put it, suddenly he was uncertain. He had planned to organize everything today. The keys. Maps of the area. New booklets and information he had gotten from the tourist office. It was probably on the kitchen counter. Where he was baking. Oh. Behind the flour, perhaps. Or under a baking bowl. He had to bake the rolls. Cool them. Pack them. Clean up this mess. Put away the leftover flour and oats. Check what they needed to restock. He wanted fresh yeast for the next batch, even if some dry yeast was useful to have as well. And more grains and seeds for baking, everybody loves a crunchy musli bread. Dried fruit. He must remember that as well. A list. He should write a list. Shit. His brain was thinking ahead again. He turned towards the man.

“Thanks. Uhm. My daughter. She needs to pee. Do you think she could use the bathroom first, before we make the formalities. Shit, I don’t know what kind of formalities you do, I forgot to print the contract and the stuff from Airbnb, but I have my passport in the car, I can get it.” Even saw the little girl at his side, she was tugging his grey hooded jacket. The man looked down at her desperate face. “Ja, Schatz, moment bitte.”  
Even smiled at her. “Sure. The bathroom is just over there.” He pointed to the door at the other side of the kitchen.

While making coffee, he listened to their low chatting behind the door, it reminded him of fond moments from way back. With a smile he filled his mug with an extra large espresso, then topped it with milk foam. As he lifted the mug to take the first sip, the guy and the girl came out from the bathroom.  
“Ok, so...” The guy just saw his cup. “Shit. Sorry. I am so close to falling asleep. You think I could have a cup of coffee? We have coffee beans in the car, you can have some later…”  
Even interrupted him. “Sure, what would you like? Espresso? Milk?”  
“A double espresso?”  
“Sure thing.” Even quickly and efficiently made the drink, and noticed the guy’s lightly shaking hands as he took the cup from him, the relief as he lifted it, he sniffed it and closed his eyes, a little smile, before he finally touched his lips with it.

“Papi! Ich habe Hunger!” The little girl tugged his jacket again and said something in German. She looked at something behind Even, and he turned around to look at the countertop behind him. He had completely forgotten the rolls he was making, he had just baked them and left them to raise when the couple knocked on the door.  
“Oh, you’re hungry?” he smiled at her. “Eh, bist du hungrig?” He had no idea if that was actually a proper German sentence, but he thought so, apparently some of the things Frau Müller tried to teach them way back still stuck. He looked at the man. “Do you want to stay for breakfast before you get settled in the cabin? I was just about to bake these rolls.” He waved at the four baking plates behind him. 

He could see him swallow. “Ehr, yes, please.” He looked down at the little girl. “Wir können zum Frühstück bleiben. Du kannst ein paar Brötchen haben wenn sie fertig sind.”  
Even smiled at them. “We have some bread from yesterday as well, if she wants some right now. What would she like on it? Or does she prefer it just plain? Or toasted, perhaps? We’ve got jam, cheese, liver pate, salami, ham, caviar, Nutella…”  
“Nutella!” Her face lit up.  
“Oh, she speaks English?”  
“No, but I think you gave her a pretty universal offer,” Matteo smiled.  
“What about the rest of your family?”  
“They are in the car. They were still sleeping when we arrived.”  
“What about you getting them while I set the table and get out some more food?”  
“That sounds terrific. And I will get the coffee, as well. I am Matteo, by the way.”

The kitchen was full of people and sound and chaos, and it was bliss. The kids seemed to get along well, especially after Matteo dug out an enormous bag of Haribo sweets and melted Kinder chocolates, and Even had spent half an hour or an hour or two, he really had no idea, talking to David, Matteo’s husband. He was witty and charming and smiled a lot, and it felt like they somehow connected, they talked about art and drawings and photography and film making and politics and family and loads of stuff he couldn’t remember now, except it was interesting and energizing to hear about. 

Now the guests are in the cabin. Isak took them there while Even cleaned the breakfast table, or at least he took Matteo there. Even is not quite sure where David and the kids went, but it’s quiet inside and he can’t hear any voices from the outside either. 

He has carried the spreads from the table to the countertop next to the fridge, and is meticulously stacking them in their boxes. Isak bought boxes for the fridge two years ago, and Even must admit it makes fitting everything in the fridge easier. They should get another fridge as well, though, one fridge is not enough when they shop for the entire week. They have two shelves worth of jam and cheese and cold cuts and other spreads now, plus dinner for several days, barbecue stuff, condiments, salmon, meatballs, fresh pasta. He frowns, why do Isak keep buying those? Even has told him it takes him half an hour to make fresh pasta, and it is next to free in addition to being better than the preprocessed and plastic wrapped shit.

They have been throwing insults at each other recently. Not big ones, just the small snippets of sarcasm now and then, back and forth, without really meaning to be mean, but it’s exhausting, he stiffens when they talk, waiting for the next little poke.

The distance between the countertop and the table suddenly feels so long, even if it’s only a few metres, five metres top. He leans to the counter and looks at the messy table, tries to figure out what to do next. Plates. Glasses. Cutlery. Napkins. A wad of paper soaked with milk or juice. Carry everything between the table and the counter, it will be several trips. Fill the dishwasher. Clean the table. Brush the floor. So many things, so many orders to do them in.

He slides down against the cabinet door and sits at the floor. The surfaces seem hard against his body, like it tries to shape itself towards them. He leans his head against the door, he can feel the ache in his neck when he relaxes, it’s been too long since he did that properly. His eyelids are heavy as they close over his eyes, it gets darker, his shoulders drop. He feels the nails scrape against the skin of his hand as they slide down his thighs, everything just feels heavier, softer, limper, like he is about to melt over the floor, go from human shape to flat.

He can see the dirt better now, the dirt and the mess. Dirty streaks down the cupboard fronts. A gray layer of smudge around the door knobs, it looks nasty when he sees it. There is dust under the cabinets, something grey, probably sticky. A pile of clothes and shoes and toys and papers behind the door, a bag filled with paper next to the door, it must be from last year, they can’t even keep up with easy household tasks. 

The sudden sound from the fridge startles him. It’s noisy, really loud, piercing through his head. He presses his hands against his ears, his underarms are squeezing against the cheek bones, if he pushes harder it will hurt, but maybe the pain will remind him of something, although he is not sure what.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, another perspective. Even is doing fine, isn't he? Everything is fine.


	6. David

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life sucks. Well it doesn't really, but why is David feeling so damn conflicted? It's a bloody midlife crisis, that's what it is. Isn't it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early posting since I'll be off grid tomorrow. Enjoy!

_Lilly and Lottie age 3. You were both full of attitude and sunshine and chaos!_

##  DAVID 

Matteo is right about one thing. Things are shit. 

Most of it is in his head, he knows that. It’s just, it’s kind of like a fucked up midlife crisis. Not that he is anywhere near a crisis, because god knows they’ve had a few of those, and this is nothing. Nada. Zilch. 

Yet he stands in front of the mirror and looks at himself wondering what the hell happened. 

So yes, he passes as a man. In every fucking way. Well. He can pee standing up with his prosthetic when he can be bothered to use it. His body is his own, and to be honest it’s not always worth it, even though the fake bulge in his trousers makes him smile. Well, it used to. Now he feels like a constant disappointment. 

He lets his fingers trace the scars on his chest. They should be faint and barely visible, but to him they will always stand out. Angry red welts, where his skin was once smooth. His muscles are creating the right shapes and his shoulders look broad and strong in the bright light from the bathroom cabinet, but he still sighs and shudders. 

No wonder Matteo barely touches him these days. It’s not like when they were younger and just couldn't keep their hands off each other. When Matteo’s hands would sneak under his top, whenever he could. Just stroking his skin, and letting that mouth on him suck little marks into his neck. They had been obsessed with sex. Tried everything, not only once, no, they had pretty much fucked constantly for months. David had built muscles in places he didn’t know he had in him. Matteo had broadened out. David had run every morning, worked out. Matteo had become skinnier and taller. David had lifted weights. Played football. He had been so bloody fit, and it scares him now, his stomach is still a bit wobbly, and the stretch marks are still like pale claw marks across his lower belly, with the c-section scars to remind him that he had done that. He had created 3 children. Fucking hell. Him and Matteo. 

They had made all these ridiculous plans. Places they would visit. Things they would do. Jobs they would have. None of them had included having a child, because they had been children themselves, stuck in a cheap bedsit, and barely able to feed themselves. 

He had been at peace with himself for the first time in years, and then suddenly, everything that he knew and understood had been ripped from him.

Except Matteo. His Matteo. Matteo stayed, loved him. Held him. Fed him when he couldn’t even attempt to put food in his own mouth. Told him he was beautiful when his body turned into something he tried to ignore. Shouted at people who called him a freak. Protected him from the world when everything became too much. 

He loves his kids, like insanely. Sometimes his brain can’t quite comprehend what happened over the last couple of years, yet all he has to do is stand in front of a mirror and stare at himself and it all comes crashing back like a bucket of ice has been chucked over his head. 

Top surgery is supposed to magically fix half of your problems. Fuck that. 

Children are supposed to cement the marriage you are in. Lies. Fucking lies.

His torso is a patchwork of proof that you shouldn’t mess with what you were given. He cringes even saying that, because it’s all his insecurities talking again. All the fucked up thoughts that creep into his head at night. All the questioning when he knows full well that there is not a single mistake that he wouldn't have done again. Matteo keeps saying it, and David knows it too. He would have done the same thing over and over again. In every universe. Every time. It’s just that those ten year plans? Nothing on those carefully laid out spreadsheets they used to make, ever came to any fruition. The trips they were going to take? There was never enough money. Well, not until Paris. After Paris there was just no room to move in their budget. Not a freaking millimeter.

He can’t remember the last time they had sex. When touching didn’t carry too much hidden meaning, and kisses of affection didn’t carry a fear of having to give into more. 

David can hear Matteo some nights, pretending to fall asleep, then rolling almost off the edge of the bed and wanking behind his back, ending in silent cries in order not to wake him. 

But David is usually awake, he is listening to Matteo's breath, hearing the sounds become louder, his moves making the bed creak and the mattress jump even if he tries not to.

He would have helped him, stroked him, held him, smiled against his shoulder when he cried, would have felt the body stiffening against his own, his arms holding Matteo tight as he felt his movements become faster and more irregular, his breath stilling just before his release, then the limp, cuddling body against his chest.

Because he trusts Matteo, he knows Matteo won't do anything against his will, he could have been there for Matteo. But not even that is something Matteo will let him do. Instead he whacks off in secret, as if it was a shame, a way a kid would act in order not to disturb their parents.

He understands Matteo’s concerns about sex, though. Another pregnancy would kill them both. And despite everything, Matteo had said no to any more surgery. For now. And thank god, David agreed. Enough. They were all good as they were. Things needed to be good again.

They needed to not do anything stupid. Think. Stay safe. Keep things stable. 

They had never been good at staying safe or stable.

Because Matteo had left the then 7-year-old Andreas with his mother for the weekend and taken David to Paris. They had had the most gorgeous time, walking and exploring. Talking. Really going back to what mattered. Being them. And it was Matteo’s fault, because he had finally gotten his degree and secured a placement and things were going so well. David had a good school, and loved his job as a PE teacher. Loved it. Herrn Schreibner was well respected and liked. And nobody ever questioned his ability to teach or his gender. Ever. He was stable and safe and happy. And the weekend in Paris had just been the icing on the cake. They had loved every minute, and yeah. The sex.

They had fucked each other into oblivion, until they were sated and sweaty and sore, and even then, they had gone for it again. With condoms. He remembers the condoms. Because there was still a risk and they were not taking it.

Still. It was Matteo’s fault. Of course, it was. Or maybe it was David’s. Neither of them had ever figured it out. Because six months later David was asked to step down from his position as a visibly pregnant male teacher should not be teaching Physical Education. Which was bullshit, but yeah. David had to agree. It became unbearable. And now, years later? David can’t even find the right words. 

He pulls a clean t-shirt over his head and smoothes down the front. Pulls his fingers through his hair. Scratches his beard. 

He looks ok. He looks fine. He’s not fine. He’s a fucking mess.

It still makes him smile when he walks into the bedroom, where his husband is still half asleep, with his arms around Andreas, who is desperately fighting to get out of his father’s grip. 

“I need cuddles,” Matteo shrieks.

“Get off me, you shithead,” Andreas hisses, trying to bend Matteo’s arm away from his body, which only results in Matteo planting a kiss to his forehead and pushing him off the edge of the bed.

“Where are the girls?” David asks, a pang of anxiety rolling through his veins. Calm down. Calm the fuck down.

“With those other kids. They have gone off to show them something. That Isak dude is with them. Why is there no Wifi, Papi? You didn’t say there would be no wifi. This holiday sucks,” Andreas whines.

Matteo just grunts. 

“With no wifi you can use your head. Read a book, Andreas. Go out and enjoy nature.”

David doesn't even believe those words himself. He could kill for an hour on the net bleaching his brain with nonsense.

“More time for cuddles.” Matteo’s voice is all muffled, his face buried in the pillow.

“This is like child abuse,” Andreas shouts and clumsily kicks Matteo’s foot that is hanging off the bed, and Matteo just grunts and Andreas whinges. “You can’t force us not to have any contact with the outside world. I have friends ,you know, and my YouTube channel and my gaming community and this sucks! How am I supposed to keep up with Snap?”

“Tough. You are stuck here now. We are going to be here for a long time and chill. And your Vati is going to make us some coffee.” Matteo sounds far too sure of himself.

“Fuck that,” David says, with an involuntary giggle. They shouldn't swear. Andreas’ language is disgusting at times. Not that Matteo is any better, he can still talk like an imbecile teenager despite his degree, age and, well, sense. He should know better. “Get your Papi to get up and make us all coffee. I’m going to go and chill. Enjoy the sunshine.”

“Come cuddle first,” Matteo begs, holding his hand out. His eyes begging. 

David can read it, because Matteo is like an open book. He knows Matteo is desperate for things to go back to what they once were. He understands. And somewhere, David can’t explain it. He used to be a complete cuddle slut, used to love any little touch. They were the butt of everyone's joke, the two of them joined at the hip, always touching, always sitting on each others laps, their lips practically fused together.

“Please,” Matteo begs.

Now, it’s like he is so far removed from his own body that he can’t bear to touch it himself, and definitely recoils at anyone else touching him. He can barely look himself in the mirror as it is. And he knows he hurts everyone around him every time he pushes people away. Even the kids. He can’t quite explain it. It’s just. 

It’s not him. It’s nothing like he expected it to be. 

“I’m starving,” Andreas mutters and shoves David out of the way with his shoulder. “Is there at least food? Or are we starving _and_ dying from lack of communication with the outside world? Is there at least a fucking TV?”

“No TV,” David says, like a fool. He’s not helping. And Matteo just stares at him, with that look. The disappointment. Hurt. Fear. 

It makes David want to throw up. Cover the floor with regurgitated bread and ham and coffee and shit. Matteo does this. All the time. Floors him emotionally with that look. 

“I got a bloody mozzie bite. This place sucks. Look! It bit me twice!” Andreas booms back into the room, furiously scratching his elbow, holding up his elbow where two large red bumps glow angrily on his skin.

“I love you,” Matteo says, his voice low and stern, his eyes dark blue, and David feels like he’s drowning, where Andreas just rolls his eyes and snorts, scratching his elbow until it bleeds.

“I know you do,” David says back. 

He can’t make himself say the words. Not right now. 

“I’ll go make some food. Even gave us some bread rolls,” he says instead and walks out the door.

“Coffee!!” Matteo shouts at his back and David let’s himself smile. 

“Get up and make it yourself, dickhead.”

“Fuck you,” comes the muffled voice from behind, where Matteo no doubt has curled back into the foetal position with a pillow over his head.

“Fuck you too,” David laughs.

They’re safe for now. Keep it simple. Stable. Safe.


	7. Isak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Ok, let’s go fishing."
> 
> Half an hour later he regrets it all. The path to the lake seems narrower than he remembers from last year. The bushes and trees around it seem to have grown and stretched over it, and the rain that felt like a refreshing relief last night now means drops soaking them from the leaves whenever they touch them. Or whenever the person walking first touches them, and of course that is him. The kids are walking at a safe distance behind him, well behind the drips from the trees. The mosquitoes have also woken, and Isak is blinking and scratching his face and neck and arms and any other exposed skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're moving on - this is about three days after the previous chapter, or more precisely “Wednesday, week 1” (Unlike Skam and Druck the week will start on Mondays, though, and also unlike Skam and Druck there won't be a huge finale every week.)

“Daddy, I am bored.”  
“I am dyyyying.”  
“Ok, let’s go fishing.”

Half an hour later he regrets it all. The path to the lake seems narrower than he remembers from last year. The bushes and trees around it seem to have grown and stretched over it, and the rain that felt like a refreshing relief last night now means drops soaking them from the leaves whenever they touch them. Or whenever the person walking first touches them, and of course that is him. The kids are walking at a safe distance behind him, well behind the drips from the trees. The mosquitoes have also woken, and Isak is blinking and scratching his face and neck and arms and any other exposed skin.

“Are we going alone?” Maria suddenly asks.  
“Yes,” Isak says, surprised by the question. “Who would you like to bring?”  
“Well... the guests?”  
“They are not really our guests, Maria. We shouldn’t bother them. They have rented the cabin and we should leave them alone, they probably want to relax and go for walks and stuff. They are probably here to enjoy the outdoors.”  
“Andreas says they are only sitting inside the cabin,” she protests.  
“I am sure they have been outside as well. The twins have certainly been outside,” Isak says. He saw them by the sandbox yesterday evening.  
“They were just playing in the garden.”  
“Andreas says it’s super boring here,” Maria says.  
“Who wouldn’t say that?” her brother answers.  
“Well… nobody?”  
“I like it here,” Isak says with a firm voice.  
“You are an adult. Adults like boring things.” Maria grimaces. It seems like she all of a sudden goes from being 14 to being 7.

The truth is that Isak doesn’t particularly like it here. He likes the place, the house, the cabin, garden, beach, lake, the surroundings. But he hates how the place feels like a failure for them all, how the nice family holiday thay are all dreaming of every year seems to turn into a nightmare. This year already doesn’t feel different.

“But can we bring the boy next time?” Maria asks.  
“Andreas. His name is Andreas,” Fredrik adds.  
“I know his name is Andreas!” Maria says.

Suddenly Fredrik swears behind Isak. He turns around and looks at the kids. Fredrik looks furious. “Maria pinched me!”  
“Did not!”  
“Did!”  
“Maria! Fredrik! Can you stop, please! I am not taking you fishing if you are going to behave like this!”  
“He is bothering me.”  
“I just asked if she has a crush on Andreas, and then she pinched me! Auuu! She did it again!”  
“Maria! Fredrik! Stop it!”  
“Are you blaming me for it?”  
“It takes two to tango,” Isak says.  
Fredrik just stares at him. “Fuck you.” He stops for a moment, then sets off in the opposite direction.

Isak looks after Fredrik and sighs. “Ok, are we fishing or not.”  
“Fishing,” Maria grumbles. “There is nothing else to do, and I don’t want anything to do with HIM.”

“So, you like Andreas?” Isak asks. He is glad the guests apparently clicked with the kids. Even though he is a paying guest here, Isak supposes they can hang out. Andreas is probably as bored as Maria and Fredrik, and David and Matteo probably as keen as Even and himself to get the grumpy kid off their backs for a while.

“I don’t like him,” Maria furiously protests a moment later. “But he is nice. Funny to talk with,” she adds.  
“Good. Good.” Isak nods, absentminded. His thoughts have already moved to other things. Worries. Ideas. The damned wet forest. He is not quite sure what. 

Down by the lake they start fishing. After a few throws with her rod, Maria has last year’s technique and manage to cast longer than Isak. He feels clumsy, and his lure has already been stuck in a bush three times. “I wonder who taught you fishing, Maria,” he mumbles as he tries to free the thin strings from a shrub without catching his finger on the hook.  
She shrugs. “Not you or daddy, it seems,” she adds dryly. 

Maria turns towards the water as she is pulling in the lure yet another time. “I think I may have caught something,” she says, struggling with the reel.

As the line gets shorter, they can see the fish. It looks like a decent sized perch, a bit under a kilo, Isak estimates. It’s jumping lively through the surface, getting closer and closer to land. “Don’t miss it, Maria! Be careful! Pull slowly!” Isak is stretching from the dry shore above the water to help her with the fish.  
“Daddy! Stop it! I can do it myself!” She shakes her head in frustration as she continues rolling in the line.

Finally the fish is safely on dry land. Maria grabs it with her left hand and prepares to kill it with a stone. Then there are noises from the bushes behind them, and a screaming figure come through the green layer. “Bist du verrückt? Are you going to kill it??”

Maria looks confused at Andreas. “Uhm. Yes?” She is still holding the fish at an arm length, waiting to kill it. 

“You can’t fucking kill it you… you… Arseloch!! It’s a living thing, and it’s probably got family and lots of baby fish to look after!” Andreas shouts. 

Maria looks from the fish to Andreas and back again. “Uhm… I think they leave their babies once they have hatched?”  
“How do you know that?”  
“I have read about it. In a research journal.”  
“Bullshit.” He glances around, as to wait for scolding. “I mean, researchers don’t know shit about fish. How can they know what the fish actually think or do?”  
“They observe them?” Maria sounds uncertain.

“Maria! Are you gonna kill that fish or not!” Isak shouts frustrated. The fish is wiggling in her hand, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She is looking at Andreas.  
“No, I don’t think so,” she says. She looks slightly confused.  
Isak shakes his head in frustration. “Let me do it. Don’t let the fish suffer.”  
“You can let it go,” Andreas protests.  
“Yes, we can let it go,” Maria agrees.  
“That’s a thing,” Andreas says. “Catch and release, I think it’s called. They you can have the nasty pleasure of catching the fish without killing it. It is released and can return to its family.”  
“I don’t think there is a family anymore,” Maria adds weakly.  
“Catch and release is really cruel. Jeez, kids.” Isak shakes his head angrily. “Look at the hook here, it’s all the way through the chin of the fish, it’s a deep cut. How on earth can you call that unharmed?” He looks at Andreas, who looks shaken and confused. “If I release this fish, it won’t be able to eat properly, and will probably die of hunger.”

Isak grabs the fish from Maria. She loosens the grip around it. Isak can feel the slow wiggling of its tail and lower body between his fingers. The fish seems considerably weaker now than when they got it on land. He holds it firmly in his left hand, thumb and index finger around its neck, and takes his knife from his belt with his other hand. With a quick cut, he slits its throat and neck precisely before turning it around to let it bleed. “This is the quickest and most safe way of killing it,” he explains, pointing at the wiggling fish. “It will die almost instantly, the movements you see now are reflex moves. It’s the nerves along the spine that gets stimuli and makes the muscles contract.” 

Andreas and Maria make grimaces. It’s pretty obvious that they don’t approve his explanation, whether it’s true or not.  
“I won’t eat it,” he says.  
Isak looks at him. “It? Him. Look.” He points at the milt. “Definitely not female.”  
“It still doesn’t have to be male,” Andreas protests. “Gender is not binary, and gender assigned at birth is not necessarily correct.”  
“That’s right,” Isak says. “But I don’t really think fish cares that much about it. They mainly hatch, catch, mate, repeat.” He silently shakes his head. Discussing gender assignment of fish with a year 14-year-old vegetarian feels weird. “Anyway, this will be dinner for tonight. We will fry it and serve it with potatoes and sour cream and chives, we have plenty of it in the garden.” His mouth is already watering. He looks at Andreas. “Do you want to join, too?” “Yes, please,” Andreas mutters. “But I won’t eat the fish!”  
Isak shrugs. “Whatever.” 

When they get back to the house Even is gone. He has left a note, “gone shopping,” and Isak sighs. While he had made sure some of the stuff he wanted was on the shopping list, he had meant to join the upcoming shopping trip to Henriksvik, so he hadn’t really thought the list through. It’s the nearest town, some 10-15 kilometres away, and they go there for groceries and ice cream. Besides the mobile network is decent there, so they can read email and maybe download something while they are waiting.

But not this time. He sighs and looks for Fredrik, but he is not inside. He has probably hidden somewhere, found a secret cave where he can be alone. Isak doesn’t really blame him, it’s bad enough with four people here, and several times worse with nine. 

They hear a car engine between the trees, and soon their car is coming to a halt in front of the house. Even jumps out, grinning at them. “I went shopping!” he happily announces.  
“I saw that. Why didn’t you wait for us?” Isak replies grumbly. “There was a bunch of stuff I wanted to buy!”  
“I got everything on the list,” Even assures.  
“Well, I hadn’t put everything on the list yet, because I had no idea you planned to go there today.”  
“Oh,” Even says. His face falls from smiling to shame. “I am sorry, I should have called you before I left.”  
“And I would have liked to come, too,” Isak adds sourly. “It’s, you know, network there, unlike in this godforsaken location.”

Even tries to hug him, but Isak shies away from his arms. “Let’s get the stuff you have bought inside,” he sneers, grabbing for the bags. He peeks inside them. “So, we’ll have homemade pasta sauce and meatballs today, too? Like yesterday?”  
“Was it yesterday? I thought it was longer ago,” Even excuses.  
“And bread, did you get that?”  
“Fuck, I knew there was something I forgot! You see, the supermarket’s bread seemed so stale, so I planned to go to the baker’s, but then I forgot! But I can bake, don’t worry!” Even cheers.  
“Yes, I know you can bake, Even. And I also know who will have to clean the kitchen afterwards, and that’s not you!” He shakes his head in frustration.  
“This time I will do it, Isak, I promise!” Even puts his hands around Isak’s face and tries to kiss him. With a sigh Isak accepts and replies distantly to the kiss while he plans how to stock the fridge and the cabinets with everything Even has bought. 

Sometimes he wishes they’d just do crappy, cheap fish fingers and greasy chips, something they can just heat in the oven for half an hour, done, something that won’t have their bank account screaming at them. “And no Nutella either, you know how crappy everyone are when we don’t have Nutella for breakfast.”  
“No Nutella?” Maria is shaking one of the bags to see its contents. “And no filled pasta either? I love cheese filled pasta! And biscuits! I am so fed up of your organic sugar free cookies, I want Oreo cookies or Safari cookies,” she whines.  
“I thought you were the health conscious here?” Isak asks. “You aren’t even eating meat half of the time because it’s bad for you, you say, but then you eat Nutella and crappy cookies?”  
“It’s because they taste better than the other stuff!” she shouts, before heading off towards the house.

At the front door she stops. “And I needed tampons and pads, too, and of course you forgot to buy it, again! If I had a mum, she would have helped me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, periods and gendering of fish and solo shopping, where do we start? Or when does it end? Will Even suddenly pull out the very last bag from the car, with Nutella, pads, Safari cookies and filled pasta? Or will everything collapse? Looking forward to more of your comments, dear readers! We love you ❤


	8. David

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David feels stupid and Matteo is haplessly helpless and Even is kicked out of the house...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments and kudos! We love hearing your thoughts, and as writers we thrive happily on comments and feedback. xxx

“I might have done something stupid yesterday,” David says, sitting himself down on the chair on the veranda that is basking in the morning sun, swatting away a few mosquitoes buzzing around enjoying the warmth. They are all covered in bites, and have already used up the one tube of itch relieving cream they had brought from home. He’s scratching in places he didn’t even know he needed to scratch. 

“I’ve got a bite on my arse, even with boxers, the little fucker must have bitten right through them,” Matteo says, scratching desperately, to the point of his chair creaking alarmingly as he tries to get the cushion to sit comfortably under his bum. “Now what stupidity have you done now, babe?” he laughs.

It’s nice when they laugh. When things aren’t so tense. It always is when they are alone and haven’t got the kids to act like a buffer between them. 

“I heard Maria moaning that her dad had forgotten to buy her sanitary products. I didn’t want to embarrass her, but I gave Isak a bag of my stuff. I mean, I only have it in case I have a stray bleed, but I can always get more. I said it was my sister’s, but he looked like he didn’t buy that bit at all. I might have some explaining to do.”

“You don’t have to explain shit, babe. You know that. People carry sanitary products for all sorts of reasons. They are great fire starters, and tampons are well known to be good for stopping nosebleeds…”

“Fuck off,” David smiles. “Do you have to turn everything into a joke?”

“Sorry.” Matteo immediately sits up straight. “You have no reason to tell them anything. You are a man. You pass, no questions asked. Don’t bullshit yourself, babe, you do not owe people any explanations. Ever.”

“I know that, but we know what the girls are like. We will be sitting at dinner like fools and Lilly will sit up straight and explain that  _ Vati used to be a girl and that her and Lottie used to live in his tummy and it was really tight for space in there so the two of them had to kick their way out and Papi got to cut them out with a big knife _ .” He says it in a childish voice with all the hand movements, letting his head wobble with his hands do graphic stabbing movements like Lilly does when she gets really excited about something.

“My fault, I know,” Matteo says and shakes his head. “But we have always been honest with the kids, and Andreas was never the one to sit and spill all our private matters out at the dinner table, and I have no idea where Lilly gets this over dramatic attention-seeking showmanship from.”

“From you. You are a repressed clown, and you know it. Give you a few beers and you dance on tables and get naked. I have seen you, remember?”

“That was once, and it was all Jonas’ fault, for making me drink Jaeger bombs. I never want to see a Jaeger bomb again.”

It’s weird sitting here, leaning back on the chair laughing and letting his feet lean against the railings. Watching the kids running around screaming, and even Andreas has ventured out and is lazily sunbathing on a towel with his headphones on. 

“Is he wearing sunscreen?” Matteo asks, and leans forward, ready to shout at his son. Wave the bottle of sunscreen around and hand out skin cancer facts like any of his kids actually care. 

“Chill, Papi,” David laughs. ”He’s got it. Remember when he burnt his chest to a crisp a few weeks back? He won’t be doing that again. I saw him with the bottle earlier, he’s pretty much slathered in it.”

“Good.” Matteo sighs. “Fuck, I’m trying so hard to be chill and de-stress, and every so often I just get all wound up. Like food. We need to buy food. Andreas hasn’t eaten anything healthy in days, he can’t live off pasta with bread for every meal.” 

“Maybe we should venture out?” David is interrupted by another shriek as the girls are taking turns jumping out of the tree they are climbing, daring each other to go higher and higher. It should make David shudder, but yet? They are having fun. And it’s not like it’s that high. And they are getting exercise and honing their judgemental distance skills… “You are the doctor here, tell the girls when to stop. I’m going to go and sunbathe with our oldest kid. The one who is not causing me to have a heart attack with all that jumping.”

“They’re fine,” Matteo laughs and picks up their coffee cups. “I’ll make more coffee. You go chill.”

“We still need food.”

“I will take Andreas out later and find network and food. I promised him. He has asked for chia seeds and that yeast flake shit he pours on his food. I doubt they sell it here in the sticks. Who raised this kid? Yeast flakes? When I was his age I would happily have lived of paprika chips. The cheap kind.”

He disappears back into the house and David takes a deep breath before pulling his T-shirt over his head. Filling the palm of his hand with sun cream and letting it smear over his chest with strong firm movements. Shoulders. Neck. Behind the ears. Face. Arms. A little more. 

He passes all the time, and to be honest he can’t remember the last time he was misgendered. His features are unmistakably male, his voice dark and deep. He’s ok. He’s, well, he’s himself. He likes the shapes his chest throws under clothes. Naked? Not quite the look he was hoping for. At least the muscles sit tight in the right places, whilst the scars will always be there to remind him. Scars. So many scars. And the wedge of soggy skin on his stomach. The welts of skin cradling the red scars. He tries to see the positives, but they are still there. A reminder. Bad times. Some really bad times.

“Let me do your back.” 

He does. It’s fine. A little kiss being pressed to his neck as Matteo’s hands cover his back. 

“Take your coffee with you, go sit in the sun. Get some colour in your cheeks.” 

David has always loved Matteo’s voice. The softness when he speaks to him. It’s always been like a caress. Something that makes him all warm inside. 

“Love you,” he whispers. He means it. Life without Matteo? Unthinkable. He doesn’t know how he could live without this man by his side. 

“I thought having chest surgery all these years ago, I thought it would miraculously solve all my problems, like someone would wave a magic wand on my life and things would all fall into place,” he says, absentmindedly. And Matteo’s hands come to a rest on his shoulders. Tentatively. David can feel the tension in his hands. Like he expects David to pull away at any second. “Then I thought, if I could just get back on the hormones, things would be fine. Then it changed to if I could just get my testosterone levels stable again, I would feel better. I still don’t feel like myself. I don’t know what to do.”

“I know. I thought it would, too. We were young, and still naive despite being fathers and having our own home and even managing to budget and pay bills. My Dad was really impressed with me, for the first time ever, I think. He liked you too. Remember? He sat down and just stared at you and said something like,  _ You are nothing like I thought you would be, and I am glad. Because you are a fine young man and I am proud to call you my son-in-law _ . Something like that. Remember?”

“Yeah.” David laughs at the memory. It had been the same for him. The Father figure Matteo had talked about, the cold distant man he had imagined, well, the man who had sat at their rickety second hand kitchen table that day was nothing like that. They have a good relationship with Luca now, and at least that was something that made them both happy.

“Give yourself some time. The girls are just about sleeping through now, sometimes even in their own beds, and you are back working full time, and money wise, we are fine now. We have less stress. Just enjoy it. Let things take their time.” 

Matteo sounds so convinced, the words spilling out like definite truths out of his mouth. When David doubts every single word he says. It’s become a habit. A thing. A stupidity his brain can’t quite compute. Like everything goes wrong. All the time. Over and over again. 

“I hate this job. I didn’t do all that training and 3 years of uni, to be some stupid personal trainer. I want to teach again. I want to be Herrn Schreibner, the PE teacher, not David the freaking personal trainer. David the trainer is a pompous twat trying to change frumpy housewives into Kim Kardashians and I can’t stand it. I work them over, I tell them what to do and then they smile and nod and go and drink lattes and eat giant chocolate muffins. Then they come back and blame me for putting on 2 kilos. Not my fault.”

He’s shouting. Not a good sign and Matteo just looks at him. Blows air out of his mouth. He knows what Matteo is saying, even though he doesn’t say a word.  _ Chill. Calm down. I’m here. It’s you and me. You and me against the world.  _

“You don’t have to do anything, babe. If you want to teach, go apply for jobs. If you want to quit the gym job, then just resign. We can cope. I know it’s not easy.”

Matteo’s arms are around him before he can think clearly enough to step back, his body being smothered in warmth. Held. His neck being kissed before Matteo pushes him back. Leaving his hands firmly on David’s shoulders. 

“I thought,” Matteo continues, letting his fingers grip just a little tighter. His thumb doing lazy little strokes on his skin. “I thought maybe I should see if I can get a vasectomy.”

“We said no more operations, Matteo,” David says sternly, and Matteo flinches, then turns David around so they can look at each other. His blue eyes fixed on David’s own, flickering back and forth, trying to compose himself. 

“I don’t want to risk it. I don’t want to risk you. And not having sex with you is killing me, babe. I don’t want to hurt you, and I don’t fucking want to risk losing you, never again. I can’t. I couldn’t live with myself.”

“Surgery is not a good thing in our family. Things always go wrong. I don’t want to risk it.” David can barely look up. This is hard. These are all the things he doesn’t want to remember. Think about. His breaths are heavy. Fast and laboured.

“I would go to the Uroxx clinic, it’s a simple procedure. In and out. I wouldn’t do it at the hospital, I don’t quite like the idea of my colleagues handling my dick. That would be. Yeah.  _ Peinlich _ . Weird. Wrong. On so many levels.” He laughs and David knows what he is doing. Trying to make it light. Simple. An easy in and out. Not a life changing death-defying issue like it becomes in David’s head. Over and over. 

“Can we not think about it right now?” David whispers, and lets his forehead touch Matteo’s cheek. Just a little bit. Just a bit of contact. Something to soothe his racing heart and panicking thoughts. 

“We’ll talk about it later,” Matteo whispers back. “Now go and lie in the sun and catch some rays.”

It’s fine sitting down on one of the deckchairs that are casually placed in the middle of the lawn. There is nobody around, apart from Matteo and the kids, and for once he doesn’t feel so damn self conscious about himself. He’s just here. Being who he is. Lying in the sun and letting his neglected pale skin catch some rays. Hoping for a healthy glow instead of the stress induced gray sheen that city living brings. 

The girls leave him alone, having discovered a caterpillar and they have quickly gone from being trapeze artists in that tree to now creating a caterpillar farm complete with a McDonalds toy in the grass. He smiles listening in to their conversations and Andreas has disappeared, probably gone inside. It’s nice. Soothing. Peaceful. The only thing being heard being the wind making the leaves on the trees rustle above him. 

“Can I sit?”

The voice makes him jump but he gestures with his hand before he can think, and Even drops himself down on the grass next to the deck, wrapped in a blanket with a beanie on his head.

“You cold?” David asks before he can stop himself. Because Even looks like shit. Pale and gaunt and nothing like the man full of life that greeted them the other day.

“Yeah. Not a good day. Sorry. I can leave you in peace.” He makes an attempt to get back up, whilst David gestures with his arm, urging him to sit back down. Then he freezes up and pulls back, covering his chest with his arms. It’s instinct. And it’s fucked up. He has a few scars. And it’s not like Even is even looking at him, letting himself sink back down to the ground, rubbing his nose with his hand before coughing gently.

“I couldn’t get out of bed this morning. Isak threw me out and told me I’m not allowed back in bed until the room smells better and I have had a walk. Sometimes I hate my husband.”

David laughs gently. Not that it’s funny. But he knows the feeling. 

“I know what you mean. I…” He stops himself. Sharing is not always caring. But Even has closed his eyes and is taking deep breaths. Trying to calm himself. 

“I understand depression, if that is what we are talking about here.” David says softly. “I barely left the bed for a year after the girls were born. Complications. Postnatal depression. They were ill, I was ill.”

His face flames in realization of what he just said. Fuck.

  
  


## 


	9. Even

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even and David talks, and some from their pasts are revealed.

Even is sitting on the grass. The ground is smooth and cool under him. His fingers are playing with some straws while he holds the blanket with the other. They are soft against his skin. He tries to listen to the sounds around him. The wind rattling the leaves, the birds, the children. Oh, the damned children. It somehow hurts to hear them, even if it isn’t his own.

He is drawing air in through his nose, out through the mouth, just like his yoga teacher once taught him, deep breaths, hold, out, calm and relaxed. “His yoga teacher” sounds so pretentious, he hasn’t been there for ages now. First it didn’t fit into his schedule, and then not into the budget. But maybe it should.

His mind is sluggish. He knows that. Not usually, not when he is doing well, but when he is down, the sluggishness is a sure sign. It’s a feeling of not coping with the world, of the earth rotating too fast so he has to struggle to hold tight while everybody else are hanging on to it.

He opens his eyes and stares into the wood. Looks at leaves and bushes and stems and grass and the redcurrant shrubs between the garden and the forest. It’s all green, but still not the same, green is not only green, it’s all the shades and gradients and structures. At least he can still see the green, he thinks. His mind has not gone all grey yet. He pinches a straw between his thumb and index finger, and pulls it free. Maybe if he can keep on to the greenness, it won’t turn all grey either, not even when he is closing his eyes

David’s words are swirling around in his brain, slowly translating from sounds to interpretation. 

Another sad man. Just like half the population, it seems. At any time. He claims to “understand depression”. It sounds ridicule, who can “understand depression,” Even thinks. Not even himself do, which is quite ridiculous, considering what ridiculous amounts of time he has spent in that state. 

Even frowns. What else did David say? It’s like the words are done swirling around and are about to slip in stead. Something about birth, about the girls, his twins. 

He looks at David. Looks at his brown eyes, the long lashes, his slender and strong body. Tense arms, his torso, the horizontal scars, light pink lines just below the pecs. If he didn’t think about it he probably wouldn’t have noticed.

He nods slowly, not sure what to say, he tries to think of something Eskild may have said some time in the past, but nothing occurs to him.  
“I also had postpartum depression. But it was different, I guess.”

David looks at him, obviously confused. “Are you… did you…,” he stutters.  
Even shakes his head. “No, I just got paternal PND. They mixed it up with my regular depression, just tried to increase the medicine doses, but it didn’t really help, I just felt like a drug zombie on top of the sleepless nights.”  
“But why?” David asks. “No, sorry, it’s not my place to ask,” he excuses himself.  
Even shrugs. “It’s ok. It was the usual stuff. Lack of sleep. Changes in life. The stress. The feeling of a distance between me and the babies. And then Isak started taking most of the responsibility to protect me, and I just felt even more separated from the babies.” 

This is the most he has said about this depression to anybody beyond his psychologist, and, after a while, Isak.

“And you?” He looks at David. “If you want to tell me,” he adds.  
“I lost a lot of blood, more than two litres. They couldn’t stop the bleeding, my heart stopped twice, I got at least ten bags of blood. And then they didn’t even remove my uterus afterwards,” he adds, sounding bitter. 

Even feels his face go pale when all of the information reach him. He takes a few deep breaths.  
David looks at him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to flush all that at you.” He looks closer at Even. “Shit, are you ok?” He squats next to Even and touches his arm. “You look pale.”  
Even nods. “Blood isn’t really my strong ability. But it will pass.” He draws air again. 

“Can I get you something to drink?” David asks.  
Even thinks for a second. “Coffee, perhaps? You got that capsule machine to work?”  
David laughs. “As if. Apparently we are only allowed to drink expensive Italian brews in this family.” He smiles at Even. “But it takes too long to make. Lungo?”  
“Yes, please.” 

Even leans back and turns his face towards the sun. He forgot sunglasses, so he closes his eyes. The eyelids don’t shut out all light, but they change it to a dark orange shade in front of his eyes. 

David returns a few minutes later with two cups and some biscottis on a plate.They slowly sips their drinks. Even dips the biscotti into the black liquid and sips from it until it turns to a wet sponge.

“How did the depression affect your and Isak’s relationship?” David suddenly asks.

Even sighs. First it felt like any depression, then the doctors connected it to the birth and the postpartum period. Isak had been like a strong cliff through all of it, taking care of the twins and Even as well as he could, including telling Even to stay with his parents for a while. It was the sorest and the best memory from this period, one of the moments he remembered well, probably because it was so obvious. The had been exhausted, the kids didn’t sleep, Even was sick and was in the guest room feeling bad about himself. Isak had finally realized he couldn’t do all of it, so he did the only sensible thing: asking for help. And the help had included Even leaving.

He had always been sure Isak would be the one to leave, the one to give up on them. But then he was told to leave himself, even if it only was temporarily and the children and Isak visited him almost every day.

They had spent a long time rebuilding the relationship after that. It didn’t help that for every step forward, it felt like they did one back too. And Even had feared that Isak would ask him to leave again every time he was depressed after that time, even though they had talked about it several times and Isak said this was the only time ever he had found Even leaving to be the best way forward.

He lingers. “It didn’t really affect us, not in the long run,” he says, not ready to share more.

“You know, Isak really loves to touch me. Sometimes he can’t keep his hands off me,” Even giggles. He takes another sip from the cup. “I may say I hate him, but it’s a blatant lie,” he laughs. He looks at David. “You know that feeling of being so small, when it feels like you can disappear at any moment?”  
David nods a bit uncertain. “I think so?” he answers.  
“Isak is so good to me when I am that small.” He can’t avoid smiling. “It’s like he minimizes what he does. Instead of big gestures and loud talk, it’s all tiny things. Silence, small touches. And he doesn’t make me feel shit when he does it.“

***

Even swallows his coffee. “I better go back.” He looks at David. “Thanks for listening.”  
“The pleasure was mine,” David smiles. He reaches out for Even’s hand and drags him up. The blanket slides off his shoulder and uncovers his pale chest. The sudden air gives him goosebumps. He pulls the blanket around himself again. He should have put on proper clothes, but he only planned to wait outside until Isak was done changing the linen or airing the room, not walking around like this.

He feels lighter now. It occurs to him that he is missing Isak, maybe they should do something together tonight, go for a walk or something, if he still feels better in the evening.

The house is silent when he returns. The sun is shining through the windows, hitting the kitchen counter, the dust, finger prints, crumbs, a pile of dirty plates and grease spotted glasses. The shoes and clothes and toys and paper and garbage from earlier today, no, earlier this week, are still there, as if they have fastened there, have become a permanent installation to the kitchen interior.

He walks through the kitchen and the living room. On the way he picks up some stray stuff lying around, clothes, a magazine, the used batteries from the smoke detector, he remembered them the day they arrived, books, but with his hands full he sighs and leaves everything except the batteries on the dining table, for later. The batteries goes as far as to the counter before he leaves them next to the jar full of useless matching spoons and utensils.

The silence and emptiness seem to close around him. He feels exhausted and drained, not sure if it comes from within, if it is his mind telling him he’s had enough, or if it’s from outside, the surroundings trying to crush him.

He starts when he opens the bedroom door and sees a movement in the bed. The bump under the duvet sighs and rolls over. With a small smile Even lets the blanket slide down to the floor from his body before climbing into bed. The linen smells fresh, of flowers and summer, the Swedish detergent they use her. He crawls in behind Isak, curling behind his back and sneaking an arm around him.

Even feels a shiver go through Isak. Isak rolls away from him until he end up belly down almost at the edge of the bed. His breath is slow and calm, it sounds like he is sleeping. His skin is warm under Even’s palm. He circles his fingertips on Isak’s shoulder blade before he slides his fingers down Isak’s spine. He can feel each vertebrae under them, can count them until he reaches the waistband of Isak’s boxers. For a second he lingers at the elastics, before his fingers slides slightly back again, and his hand ends up resting at Isak’s flank instead.

When Even wakes up a few hours later, he can feel it before he even opens his eyelids. The sounds are too loud, the chirping of the birds outside is piercing through his head, the light is too strong, the smell of detergent too heavy, he almost retches when the perfume hits his nose. He rolls over and pushes his face down into the pillow, desperately trying to find some comfort in the well-known smells he can smell deep inside it, but the detergent is overwhelming and he tries to pull the pillow out of its case. It’s stuck in the fold, and an urge inside him makes him try to force it out of it, he hears the seam rip when he pulls too hard. Finally the pillow is free. The white fabric is stained, brownish clouds with darker edges are scattered on it. Normally he’d cringe and throw it away, but now he is clutching to it, forcing his nose into it, in a desperate attempt to smell something other than the dreaded detergent that still lingers in his nose.

Somewhere inside it he smells it, a faint smell of Isak, his shampoo, sweat, hair, face, a hint of him still there behind the cleanliness that has rubbed off the fresh linen. He breathes as if his life depends upon it, and maybe it does, to some extent, because he doesn’t know how he can live without Isak.

“Aren’t you getting up?” Isaks voice next to him sounds muffled. Even stills and tries to find something to say. “No.”

Isak holds his breath for a while and turns around to lie on his back. “Fuck.”

Even doesn’t answer. He is still face down on the pillow, but as given up removing the pillow case. He has closed his eyes and tries to breathe in small puffs through his mouth, without smelling. It’s too heavy to breathe with his entire chest, only the upper part heaves.

“Did you do anything before you went to bed?” Isak asks.  
“Like what?”  
“I don’t know. Anything? Cleaning, laundry, cooking?”  
“No.”  
Isak doesn’t answer. He just breathes heavily.  
“I went outside, like you told me to.” Even’s voice is weak. He doesn’t know how to continue.  
“You could have done something inside, too.”  
“I am sorry.”  
“It’s ok.” It doesn’t sound like he means it.  
“I was just exhausted.”  
“Of course.”  
Even sighs. He feels even weaker now. His limbs are heavy. He hasn’t opened his eyelids yet, they feel sore.

He can hear the frustration of Isak even without him saying anything. It’s like the air is thick of it, the sound of Isak, his puffs, the heavy breathing, his fingers scratching his hair before covering his eyes, Even knows what Isak usually looks like.

“It’s just that somebody has to do it!” Isak says. “The cleaning, the laundry, the cooking, it’s not doing itself. The kids are not raised on their own. They need support, love, adult role models in their life. And when none of us manages, who can do it then?”

Even swallows. He can’t say anything, knows he will start crying the second he opens his mouth.

“You are just lying there, under the blanket, being sick. And sometimes it’s completely unpredictable. You just wake up one morning and can’t get up, and I have to do everything, no matter how crap I feel.”

Even is about to protest, to say that he feels the signs coming for days before, sometimes a feeling for weeks. But before they used to talk about it, checking in with each other, asking how they felt. And then Even would tell Isak about it, tell him about the gradual feeling of dread, of his mind getting covered in fog, how everything seemed slower and yet everything spun faster, but different from when it was spinning up.

Even after they got kids they did this. They made time for it, space for themselves. But gradually the space diminished and now they only have these stray moments in between when they both have time and energy to talk about it, and other matters are not more important. Usually it’s the kids, then practical matters, food, dinner, perhaps economy, work. Almost never themselves, and never the energy consuming matters.

Then they hear hushed voices outside the bedrooms, and steps running down the stairs, a door is slammed before the house is filled with silence again.

“I am sorry,” Even whispers. He can hardly hear his own voice.  
“It’s ok,” Isak sighs. “It’s not your fault that you get sick.”  
“I will fix it.” He has no idea what he will actually fix and how to do it.

He starts lifting his limbs to get out of bed. His arms feel so incredibly heavy and he has no idea how to get his body to follow them. Finally he sits at the bedside. He rests his elbows on his knees, pushing is the heel of his hands into his eyeballs until he sees white spots. His legs feel like jelly. He has no idea how he is supposed to stand up, even less walk.

“Daddy, we are going with the Germans to get food and network. Bye!” Fredrik’s voice is at the start of the stairs on the ground floor. Even wants to tell him to use his indoor voice and come upstairs to ask them before going, and he’d like some good orange juice too. Not the cheap variety, but the thick one in a bottle. And salt liquorice, the kind they have loads of in Sweden and Finland. But he can’t get his brain to form all those phrases and his voice to utter them.

The duvet is rustling behind him. He can hear the heavy breathing of Isak. The mattress dips as he gets up. He walks across the floor, the floorboards creak through Even’s brain before the door is carefully opened. Then it is caught by the wind and slams shut with a bang, leaving the silent lacy curtains waving in the air coming through the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of talking here... What Even reveals about his past is compliant with his story as I tell it in my grown-up Evak series, and I have touched some of it there before. Both Even and David probably benefited from talking, but what about Even and Isak, there were perhaps a few words there that should have been unsaid? Or?
> 
> Looking forward to your thoughts now, dear readers, you really inspire us ❤


	10. Matteo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are out of food, network, patience and things to talk about, so what better way to cheer everyone up than to go to Henriksvik for supplies. Not that kind of supplies. Food. Milk. Bread. Swedish meatballs. You get the gist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your lovely comments and kudos and jodels and love! We hope you are enjoying this chaotic summer holiday. So fancy a roadtrip?

He likes Even. And Isak. He kind of gets them, and that’s a nice feeling, the way he didn’t even feel uncomfortable earlier when he heard them arguing loudly. He had only walked up to their house to ask directions for the shop, and found Fredrik and Maria sitting quietly on the front step whilst their house pretty much shook with tension and anger. 

“Wanna come?” is all his mouth had said. Looking at the Norwegian kids with sympathy. He had felt as small as them as a child, when his father had screamed at his mother, and his mother’s sobs had resonated through the thin walls. 

The kids had just stared at him like he was an axe murderer. 

Good. They had obviously been brought up well. 

“I need directions to get to the shops, and Andreas needs to find network for his phone. Unless you have other plans?”

The two of them had nodded like puppets and Fredrik had pretty much bolted inside the house shouting to his parents that he’s leaving with the German dude to find network and food.  _ Real food. Stuff you can eat _ . There is so much passive aggression in his voice that it pretty much radiates off him as he jumps the steps and lands on the grass next to Matteo, phone and headphones in his hand as Maria stands up and sweeps her hair into a ponytail. 

“Sorry.” Isak voice comes from the doorway. “Sorry you had to hear that.” 

He looks exhausted. Dishevelled. He looks like Matteo feels most of the time. Just worse. And Matteo knows, god he knows. He’s been there with David. Shouting and pleading and trying so hard to understand and pretty much carrying him out of bed some days, wrapping him up on the sofa. Forcing him to have a shower. Trying. Trying so damn hard. 

He’s been there with himself. There was a few weeks before his initial surgical exams where he thought about just giving up. He thought about walking away. He thought it was a better option than to go in and fail. He remembers the panic. The fear. The cloud of hopelessness. He remembers the sleeping tablets and he remembers David crying. He doesn’t really want to remember. It was bad. Fucked up. It was. 

He looks after himself better these days, he has too. Because he has David and the kids and they are going to get through this. Grow old gracefully with nice holidays making memories with the children and raising them into fully functioning adults. 

He looks at his son moping about by the car. His head hunched down over his phone, feet stomping around in those damn trainers Matteo paid half a months wages for, and look at them now. Trash. Junk. 

“We need food. And directions. Translators perhaps. OK if I take your kids with me?”

He’s going for lighthearted and Isak just nods. There is relief. Gratitude. A myriad of emotions that Matteo doesn't need a dictionary to read. Isak just closes the door with a nod and the two Norwegian kids are already getting in the back of the car. 

They drive in silence. There are headphones on ears. Eyes closed. Andreas in the front, his head bobbing along to the beat. 

It almost startles him when he speaks. 

“Papi?”

“Yeah?” His voice is all gravelly. Too much going on in his head.

“We still doing the Pride thing? When we get back?”

“Yes, of course. We always do it. You know you don’t have to join us if you don’t feel up to it. I don’t want you to feel forced. But Vati and I would love for you to be there with us, you know that. “

“I know.” Matteo can almost hear his eyes roll. 

“It’s fine, Andreas.”

“Don’t lecture me, Papi.” 

“I’m not.”

“What I wanted to ask, you know you were saying that the hospital stand are doing the Free Mum and Dad hugs again, and that you were having those t-shirts printed? Free Dad hugs?”

“David wants a FREE TRANS-DAD HUGS T-shirt,” Matteo mutters. “I don’t know if he is actually serious or not.”

“You do know Vati is depressed again, you do see that, don’t you?” Andreas says calmly. Like it’s nothing. 

“My dad is always depressed. And he’s not the one who is bipolar,” Fredrik says in the back. Matteo hadn’t even noticed his earphones coming off.  _ “Deprimert _ ,” he repeats. “That’s depressed, isn’t it? It’s the same in Norwegian. Deprimert.” 

“Depression is not easy to live with.” Matteo tries, trying to get his brain into gear. In English. This is hard. Unchartered territory. And at the same time he is so immensely proud of Andreas. Talking about this openly like a grown up. It’s almost like. Wow. Eye-opening.

“Tell me about it,” Fredrik mutters. “I hate when they shout at each other. I mean it’s almost easier when they both mope around and shut the hell up.”

“My parents fight. A lot,” Andreas says, tentatively in English. 

Matteo wants to defend himself. Shout. Say, no, of course we don’t fight. Well, it’s a lie. They bicker and shout and slam doors and David huffs and puffs and sends him passive-aggressive texts and Matteo walks around with this thundercloud hanging over his head and sometimes he just explodes. Kicks stuff. Throws kitchen utensils. He’s not proud. Not proud at all.

“You talking about daddy?” Maria chimes in, suddenly hanging over Matteo’s backrest. “He’s not too bad this time. At least he’s talking and getting out of bed. We’ve had worse.”

“Which daddy?” Fredrik says. “Even is fine, he’s just depressed. Isak is a disaster. He can’t even get dressed. His T-shirt was inside out this morning and his socks don’t match. Isak has this thing about socks. I can’t be arsed to find ones that match, and it drives Isak crazy. “

“Even is is actually much more chill than Isak,” Maria continues. Like she is just stating a fact. “He’s even more chilled when he is unwell, he takes us out and does weird things, and we kind of have to look after him like we are the adults and he is the kid. It’s quite funny. One day he bought all the ice-cream flavours at the Co-Op, one of each, because we couldn’t decide which one we wanted. We had like  _ soooo _ much ice-cream. Isak was furious, and shouted. Then he sat on the sofa until midnight eating ice-cream because he didn’t want to throw away the stuff that didn’t fit in the freezer.”

Fredrik just chuckles. “We still have some of it in the bottom of the freezer. Like some ginger caramel shite that was just rank. Nobody eats it and Isak won’t throw it away. He’s so bloody stubborn.” 

Matteo just chuckles quietly. He’s a child. He’s such a child. Yet it’s comforting to hear that other adults are just as irresponsible as he is. 

“What were you saying about the T-shirts? Andreas?” 

He needs to move this into safer territory. Fast. He’s not sure he is ready to counsel these children in front of Andreas, and he knows very little about bipolar disorder, which apparently is what Even is struggling with, and that Isak is a mess is not hard to see. It’s all falling into place in his head, little pieces of a puzzle. He needs to text Isak. Ask if they need supplies. Try to take some pressure off. Because he can’t imagine the strain he might be under right now, not only dealing with his husband, and two bored teenagers, but if Even is unwell, then things are probably hard. Ridiculously so. 

“My Vati, he’s depressed a lot,” Andreas says instead. “He’s not bipolar, he is just sad. He gets really overprotective about us all and freaks out a bit. It freaks me out too, to be honest.”

Matteo takes it all back. All the stuff about Andreas not spilling out their family secrets over dinner. Because here he is talking about this stuff like it is normal.

“Vati is overprotective because he loves you. It changes a person when you realize how fragile life is, and how easy it is to lose the people you love.” Matteo tries, he tries not to sound aggressive, but the instinct is always there. He will protect David. Till his last dying breath. Also. Note to self. Your kid is hurting. That is fucking difficult to suddenly stomach.

“I know he almost died, and that the twins were sick,” Andreas mutters. 

“I don’t want to have twins,” Maria says, almost jolly. “I don’t think I want kids at all. It seems hard work, having to look after people all the time. I want to have fun when I grow up. Travel. See things.” 

“That’s good,” Matteo says, probably a little too enthusiastic. Anything to talk about something easier. 

“I want kids. It’s fun. I’m just scared that they will turn out to look as ugly as me. I mean, I look just like my dad and he’s got a face like a...what do you call it?”

“Shut up. I’m handsome.” Matteo laughs.

“You look like an old man. Your hair is all thin on top and at least Vati has muscles. He should make you go running again.”

Yeah. Right. Matteo is not built for running, and the last time the three of them went for a jog Matteo ended up throwing up in the bushes. And Maria and Fredrik laugh in the back as Andreas enthusiastically reenacts his finest moment spilling his guts up after a 20 minute run. He is not an athlete. Not like David. Not like Andreas who is sportier than the two of them together. Weirdly enough. 

“What did you say about Pride?” Fredrik asks. “We just had ours. It’s kind of fun. Lots of weird stuff, but it’s fine. A bunch of our friends are always there too, so it’s not too bad. “

“Papi and Vati are involved with the Berlin Hospital Pride trust so we usually man their stand. Last year they did this thing with Free Mum and Dad hugs, you know for people who don’t have supportive parents and stuff, you know. They can come and get a Mum hug. Or a Dad hug. It was quite good. A few people cried. Emo, you know. That was what I was going to ask, can you make me a FREE LITTLE BROTHER HUGS T-shirt? I thought that might be cool?”

Matteo just nods. It’s not that he’s become emotional. It’s not that he isn’t proud of his son. This is when he should enthusiastically nod and support his son’s frankly excellent idea. It’s just that he hadn’t realized. Of course he fucking realized, but it’s different hearing it. Right here. His son is freaking awesome. Almost an adult. And he cares. He fucking cares.

“Of course,” he stutters out. “Brilliant.” 

“I’m not gay, Papi. I know you worry. I’m perfectly clear on who I am, and I am almost 15.” Andreas says it in German. Like he knows exactly what Matteo is thinking. 

“I know. You told me,” Matteo says back. Quietly. In German. 

“And Vati needs a fucking hug,” Andreas continues in a voice that sounds unmistakably like Matteo’s own when he tells his kids off. Which makes him blush and smile at the same time.

“Look! Strawberries!” He shouts all too enthusiastically, spotting the stand on the side of the road. It’s so very Scandinavian. Strawberries for sale. Ridiculously expensive, but warm from the sun and they taste like heaven. 

He freely passes money to Andreas and Maria to buy as many as they can muster, smiling as Maria talks to the sales person and wacks Andreas on the arm for something he says. Laughs as the teenager selling the berries takes his earphones off and nods. Asking questions. He can follow the conversation from the car, despite not being able to hear a thing. 

Instead his thoughts run on a loop. 

David confuses him. He had tried. Tried so hard earlier, and then David had dismissed him, like he usually does. Then an hour later David had stood next to him in the kitchen and reached for his hand. Held it like it was a major hurdle. Gripped his fingers until he could barely breathe. 

It was a step forward. Perhaps a step back. He doesn’t quite get it. 

_ Small steps. Small touches _ . David had just whispered the words.  _ Small _ .  _ Right now I feel really small, and I need you to treat me like that. Like I am tiny. Can you do that? Just start small. _

He wipes away the tears that are falling down his cheeks before the kids come back to the car, Andreas shoving a massive strawberry in his mouth, making the juices drip down his chin. 

“Fucking gorgeous,” Andreas says, his mouth full of fruit, whilst Fredrik laughs and Maria yaps away in Norwegian.

“So, left at the next crossing and what was the village called that has the shop?”

Matteo sounds more enthusiastic than he feels. But things will be fine. Small. He will figure this out. Just start small.

“Henriksvik.” Fredrik says, shaking his phone. “I’ve got 4G! Fuck yeah! Network!”

The car stays silent after that.

***   
  


The kids finally agreed to go back to the cabin after everything in town was closed. 

Matteo had left them at the small parking lot when he went to the grocery store, with their faces crunched above the small blue lit screen. Then he had suggested a visit to the cafe, but they’d rather stay in the car so he had gone inside the sad looking coffee store and gotten an expensive espresso and an absolutely delicious chocolate mud cake accompanied by solitude, plus a few locals glancing over him from time to time.

He drove back to the farm in silence. He had tried to start a conversation several times, but the kids were most eager to stay on their tiny means of communications as long as possible, and when they lost connection they were just casting sour looks out the windows.


	11. Isak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Saturday, they have all been here for about a week, and Isak is taking the teens to the village for shopping and the Henriksvik Summer Festival, and maybe a few locals as well. Back at the farm Even is babysitting in German.

Isak is not sure if this is a joke or not. He is standing in front of a stage at the town square of Henriksvik. The clouds are low and rain is dripping steadily from them, covering the dusty square in dark humidity, and his thin t-shirt, which seemed appropriate when he left the cabin earlier today, is getting cold and stained. There was no rain in the morning, the clouds above them seemed light and they had no network and thus no weather forecast. He is now being punished for his optimism by getting a gradually soaking t-shirt and cold, stiff jeans.

Fredrik, Maria and Andreas had escaped a long time ago, they are probably in the cafe spending his money now, or even worse, in the science fiction bookstore this town for some weird reason has. The two grocery stores combined hardly count as a supermarket, there is a small Salvation Army second hand store carrying extremely uncool clothes, according to Maria, who had a look before she ran out of the store in a huff, and that’s about it. And a pizza place, a Chinese/Italian/kebab place, and the cafe, which apparently is surprisingly cool according to the kids. It’s probably run by some returned kid who still have some optimism left.

It also has the Henriksvik Summer Festival. When they were here with Matteo a few days ago, the kids had seen posters about it, showing a ferris wheel full of happy kids with ads for concerts and events, and insisted they went. The ferris wheel turned out to be an inflatable jumping castle that could fit six kids at a time, and it was never full during the time they were near it. There is a bored clown juggling, and now these trubadurs. The kids are already long gone, they disappeared with phones and chargers once he parked in the town.

Isak looks around. There are a few other people at the square. A group of older men hunching around a plastic table with an orange, blue and pink umbrella that has seen its best days next to the pizza place, drinking coffee from paper cups. A half-size smiling plastic clown showing the Walls ice-cream logo is wobbling back and forth in the cold breeze. A woman with two heavy shopping bags standing still watching the artist. At the edge of the place a few teenagers, older than his own, are hanging around. There is none of the summer party mood advertised by the posters scattered around town.

An artist called, or probably calling himself, Harry Stiles is currently playing, he looks to be in his sixties, wearing a checkered shirt, scarf and dirty jeans and singing cover songs from half-known country artists. His voice might in a parallel universe be decent, but in this universe he can’t hit a single tone, and the sound of his guitar and the recorded playback is way too loud to actually hear the words. The positive thing is that the noise covers some of the false half-tones.

“Hello, Isak!” It’s the voice of a middle aged woman standing in front of him. She is wearing tight jeans showing a ring of fat around her belly, which are not being covered by her too small t-shirt. Isak looks slightly confused at her. “Hello?”  
“Maybe you don’t remember me! I have mostly talked to your partner,” she says in the weird Swedish dialect they use around here. “I am your neighbour,” she laughs. “I live in the farm on the other side of the lake. It’s nice to see you are back at the cabin again this summer. And do you have visitors, too?” she asks with curiosity.  
“Uhm, yes, we have let the small cabin,” he explains.  
“So they live in the cabin, not... ok,” she says, Isak sees a glimpse of confusion on her face. “Some lovely friends,” she adds. “Are they like you?”  
“Like me?” he asks confused.  
“Like you and your… partner?”  
“Well, I don’t know if…”  
“And they have kids too?” she continues.  
“Uhm.” 

Isak tries to remember where her farm is, and how she possibly knows so much about them. There is only one farm nearby, and it’s on the other side of the lake, with its own road going off the main road a kilometer further than their own. There is a hill and a rift in the terrain between them too, making crossing between her side of the lake and the cabin almost impossible unless you follow the right path around the lake and then through the rift. He almost gets sick when thinking about how she must have observed them, when she adds that she saw "that other man and the older kids" in town the other day. He still mumbles a hasty goodbye before he heads away from the crappy concert. He needs to locate the kids, then go grocery shopping before going back to the cabin.

He walks down the main street, which is a silly term since it’s the only road through the town. The square is just a bump on the road, a blocked off parking lot next to another parking lot. The cafe is a few houses down, between the second hand store and a parish house. He has never been inside the parish, but a glimpse of the visitors in their plain coats and skirts and suits one evening they drove through the town gave him the creeps. Luckily the house seems dark and quiet as he slips through the door to the cafe.

The rain has gotten worse and he shakes the water off his hair as he steps inside. The smell of grease and dinner hits him. The cafe is half full, some youths, a woman with two children, a couple of workmen having lunch. Maria, Fredrik and Andreas are sitting at a table next to few slightly older youths, the boys trying to look older with some ridiculous attempts at growing facial hair and the girls are wearing a different kind of heavier makeup than Maria wears. Isak frowns when he looks at them. Maria is laughing at a boy in a black leather jacket, she doesn’t flinch when he touches her arm. Fredrik is talking to the two girls, they laugh at him and Andreas is hitting his shoulder with a smile. 

Maria looks up and sees him. She casts him an angry glance and nods towards the door. He shakes his head and makes a move towards an empty table in the corner of the cafe. 

He looks at the greasy menu card. The coffee machine and the home made cakes at the counter are tempting, but he opts for today’s lunch instead, maybe they won’t need dinner if the kids get a warm lunch as well. He sighs and rolls his eyes when he looks at their table, the boys have half eaten plates of chips and ketchup in front of them, but at least Maria seemed to have picked at a salad by the look of the leftover greens.

The waitress brings his lunch to his table almost immediately. It’s lasagna, a small square of orange and white layers with cheese on top, sided by a pile of iceberg salad, cucumber cubes and a slice of bleak tomato and pink sauce. He gets up to get cutlery and a glass of water from the plastic jug next to the cashier. 

The look of the mediocre dish makes him think of Even’s delicious lasagna, the one he used to make for dinner when they were young, when he started cooking it when normal people had dinner and served it three hours later, insisting that the sauce had to cook for two hours before baking it. When Maria and Fredrik were starting solids he insisted on making complete lasagna before mashing the food in the blender to feed them, even as Isak laughed and said they would probably happily have the fresh sauce mixed with macaroni, too, it would be a lot faster. Then he started making large batches of lasagna, he bought a pile of oven dishes at IKEA and filled them to the brim before baking and then freezing them for coming dinners. The kids loved it, and when Fredrik was making dinner at home for homework in 5th grade, he wanted to make lasagna and garlic bread like Even did. Even spent five hours in the kitchen with him to teach him how to slice the vegetables, cook the sauce and then bake it all, and Fredrik proudly served dinner at 21.30 that night. 

Luckily the taste of the lunch is better than the sad looks of the food. It’s spicy and there are pieces of meat and vegetables in the sauce, and the lasagna sheets are less overcooked than they look.

“I wonder when it stopped,” he thinks, suddenly wishing Even was there to answer, asking himself if he is also wondering about the same.

“Do you want anything else?” the waitress is cheerful as she picks up the dirty dishes from his table.  
Isak looks at the shiny coffee machine behind the counter. “Uhm, yeah, coffee and a slice of cake?”  
“What cake do you want? We have chocolate, apple, carrot, strawberry-cheesecake, caramel, donuts, chocolate muffins…” She peeks towards the plates next to the cashier machine. “And cinnamon and cardamom buns, of course.”  
“Uhm…” He ponders, his mouth already watering. “Apple cake, please.”  
“Coming right up!”

He hears the pumping from an air-pot, and an instant later a cup of coffee is in front of him. The brown liquid had sloshed over the edge and stained the side of the cup. It smells slightly sour, and his disappointed look after taking a sip should be visible for anyone watching.

But the lukewarm cake is served with a dash of whipped cream, and the aroma brings him back to his grandmother in the autumn. The garden where they picked apples, her slicing them and adding cinnamon and cardamom while making the dough, the smells from the oven, the soft cake with almost liquid pieces of apple.

The taste isn’t exactly the same, it has some chemical sidetastes, but the apples are good and the spongy cake is greasy towards his lips. It’s still not as he expected it to be, and he sighs quietly, it seems to be the story of his life. Nothing seems to be like he expects it to, so why have expectations at all when he will just be disappointed?

While he is eating he is watching the kids without looking. They look happy, laughing, talking to the other kids over there, or youths. He wonders how old they are. The one next to Maria could be 16-17, but he can’t imagine his own children having anything in common with someone that old, he is probably a year or two older than them and just mature for his age. It’s nice to see they are bonding with some locals. They have seemed kind of lonely during the past summers, having only each other’s company for weeks.

He is still in his own thoughts when Maria suddenly is in front of him. “Daddy,” she asks. “Thomas over here want us to see his tractor, he lives in one of the farms over there, can we go there? He has a licence to drive it and everything!” Her eyes are bright.

Isak looks at her. “Tractor? Thomas? Who?” He looks confused between Maria and the other. The guy she was talking to smirks and nods at Isak. His eyes are dark and narrow and his skin full of acne. Isak violently shakes his head. “No way, Maria!” There is no way he will let his daughter follow this guy, he will rather she never saw him again.

Isak stands up. “Come on Maria, Fredrik, Andreas. We are leaving.”  
“Daddy! I don’t want to leave!” She talks in a hushed voice, although she is furious. Isak realizes she would normally have yelled, but something is not normal here.  
Fredrik rolls his eyes. “Come on, Emm. He is not gonna let you stay anyway, I already told you so.”  
“Don’t treat me like a baby! For once I have made friends in this godforsaken place and then you won’t let me stay with them!” She raises her voice and looks apologetic towards Thomas. “I gotta go now. I’ll send you a message when I’m back.”

Isak bites his lower lip. Maybe he should let her stay for a while, maybe he is just overprotective, he has no idea what he is doing anyway, she is 14, nobody has told him what 14 year olds do. Even should have been here, the thought flashes through his mind, _it’s not fair that I am alone here_.

The door slams open and the bell above it rattles as a tall, thin man in a dripping jacket comes in. The waitress looks startled at the soaked figure suddenly standing in the middle of the room. “Thomas! Hurry up! You need to get your tractor and help Roger move the car now, or he won’t buy you booze!”

Isak shakes his head silently. Suddenly he is quite sure Maria is not staying out with Thomas or any of his friends.

***

The steady wall of drizzle became a sturdy shower as they left the village. The wipers hardly kept up with the rain and he considered taking a break at the side of the road, but the humidity inside the car made him drive on, the fan is slightly more effective against four bodies in wet clothes when the car is moving.

Suddenly the rain stops. It’s like opening the curtains in the morning when the clouds split and the sunrays suddenly them. The light is almost blinding after the dim greyness towards the dark, wet forest and the gravel road. Thousands of tiny water drops make the trees sparkle as the light reflects in all directions.

The kids run inside once he stops outside the cabin. Maria and Fredrik are rushing inside yelling about who gets to shower first, Andreas walks slower towards the other cabin, not caring about his sneakers getting dirty in the puddles across the driveway. Isak stumbles after Maria and Fredrik with the heavy shopping bags in both hands and an economy pack of toilet paper hanging from a finger.

A smell of hot cinnamon buns meets him once he enters the kitchen. Even is sitting at the kitchen table with the twin girls. Isak doesn’t remember who is who, something about the hair, one of them has longer hair than the other. Hopefully she won’t cut it herself, he thinks, like Maria did when she envied Fredrik’s cut just before Christmas one year when she was younger. Isak remembers Even being happy baking then, too, he was in the kitchen finishing the ginger breads after the kids were done.

Isak puts the bags down next to the fridge and kicks off his wet shoes. For a second he considers wiping the wet spots between the door and the fridge, but walks over to the girls instead. He smiles at them. “Backt ihr?” he asks in the best German he can muster.  
“Ja, wir haben Zimtschnecken mit Even gemacht!” One of the girls continues babbling in German. He scrunches his forehead and tries to understand what she is saying, but all he grasps is something about pink decor. He looks at Even. “So. Baking?”

Even is deeply concentrated. He is putting pink and lilac glitter pearls in a bun, apparently trying to make a pattern. The girls seem less obsessed about that, smearing liberal amounts of frosting on the buns and violently shaking the box of silver stars and glitter sprinkling over them.  
“Yeah. David asked me to look after Lilly and Lottie. He wanted to talk to Matteo, I think. They never get to talk with all the stress with the kids around all the time.” Even doesn’t really meet his eyes. “He wanted to make like a date night, and asked me if the girls could stay here. And Andreas as well, he can stay with Fredrik in his room, I bet we won’t see them anyway.”  
“Why not with Maria?” Isak asks, out of curiosity, they somehow seem closer. Fredrik has felt like a third wheel.  
Even looks at him, his eyes might be glittering. “Isak, think.”  
A second later he realizes what Even means. “Ewww,” he grimaces.  
Then he knits his brows. “But… what if Fredrik and Andreas are gay?”  
“Then they won’t get pregnant.” Even continues to decorate the buns. “But he can stay in the guest room, then.”  
“I guess it’s ok if he stays with Fredrik. He has condoms, doesn’t he? He probably hasn’t used those we gave him last year?”  
Suddenly Even laughs. His eyes almost disappear. “Isak, they are 14. You don’t really expect them to have sex? And if they do, what is the real risk?”  
Isak shrieks internally and holds his hands up against Even. In a way he can absolutely imagine them having sex. He remembers his own hidden, scary fantasies when he was at their age, and just the thought of them not being under the internal fear he was is enough to scare him. “Ok, let’s not talk about this now.” _Let’s rather build a prison tower for them. Three towers._

Even looks at Isak. “Where is he, by the way?”  
Isak looks confused at Even. “Andreas? He went back to their cabin.”

One of the girls suddenly starts crying, Lottie, Isak thinks, or is Lilly the one with the longest hair? She spills sprinkles all over the table and just sits there with tears running down her cheeks while sobbing for her dad. She rubs her eyes, and when Isak checks the time, the oven clock says 18:03. She is probably sleepy, he thinks.  
Even looks at Isak, who looks as drained as he feels himself. “Could you try to get Andreas?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your comments so far! It's really inspiring to read your thoughts, to hear that you are enjoying our little summer project, and to just see that you like it!
> 
> So, encounters with the locals in Henriksvik? Hopefully we were a bit too biased when writing this chapter, or maybe it's just in the eyes of the beholder?   
> Will Even and Isak successfully take care of the girls all night - those of you who have tried may know that 6 year olds may be a bit uncertain about sleepovers, especially the first time around with someone (that they are able to actually take care of the girls I guess we should have no doubts about, after all they have years of experience). Here we have the language barrier as well - will a simple "Gute Nacht" be enough or do they require the correct words of an ancient German nursery rhyme to fall asleep?   
> And don't get them started on the panic of suddenly having a teenager in the same room as their own...


	12. David

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They need to talk, desperately. But once again David feels pushed into a corner and would rather run away and eat pine needles for dinner than go down to the lake for a quiet evening pick nick with the gorgeous man he calls his husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we are at chapter 12 (and Pagni and I are still writing new chapters way off in the distance!) so please beware that this chapter is EXPLICIT and MATURE from the start so if that is not your jam you might want to bow out until the next chapter.

He doesn’t know what has changed, if anything. Well, nothing has changed, but somehow, he thinks that Matteo is trying. Hard. Or maybe he is, himself. Maybe he is trying to be more receptive. And give a little bit back. 

It has felt better since he has been talking to Even, and god damn, it’s good to talk. Even, who is all up and down still, he has good days and bad, but he listens, and for once David feels there is no judgement. He’s been seeing a therapist for years, a young dude with zero understanding of what David is going through. To be honest David should have asked to change to a different therapist the very first time he set foot in that clinic, but somehow it has become more difficult with every visit, week after week. Year after year. 

In a way it’s a small comfort to sit in that chair and breathe and do stupid relaxation exercises and listen to the dull voice of the guy who must be at least ten years younger than himself, and seems to be more interested in asking about David’s complex gender issues than the fact that he has completely gone off sex and is terrified of dying and hates that he can’t just be a normal grown up. And he has zero complex gender issues, thank you very much, he keeps telling him. He knows exactly where he stands on his gender and his body and his fucking needs. His body is a mess, he has zero interest in sex and is still a bloke. The whole thing is absurd. He just needs to figure out how to be a dad and a husband and get everything back under control. Including remembering to buy more Anthisan cream for their mosquito bites and ask Even to fix the netting on the kitchen window. Fuck, he can fix it himself as long as he can find some nails and a hammer, because sleeping for another night with a damn mozzie hizzing out of tune heavy metal classics in his ear will probably drive him to drink. Lots. 

But Even and him, they have made time to sit down, just for a little while each day and level the field. Talk about where they are at in their heads. David feeling like the cotton-like dull cloud in his brain has lifted a little over the last week, and Even still feeling numb. Tired. Exhausted. Yet having some kicks of energy to try to make life a little easier. He also talks about Isak, like constantly. How much he loves him. How much he does. How he couldn’t manage without him. How Isak makes his life worth living. How sometimes when he feels like he can’t even put one step in front of the other, Isak might grumble. He might even rant and shout and scream and sulk, but he will always step in and take his hand. Kiss his fingertips. Stroke his hair. Call him every name under the sun. Yes, even a few new cuss words that David has added to his repertoire of English useful words that might come in handy when Matteo is being especially twatty. But he always steps in and makes Even feel better. 

“He’s the sunshine in my life. The compass on my ship. Hell. He’s my fucking speedboat to sanity.” Even had laughed and glanced over at Isak who was dealing with some stubborn bushes that Isak had decided needed a trim. Isak wasn’t a born gardener. He should never have gone anywhere near them. The whole hedge makes David laugh every time he passes it now, the poor remains of what was once a delightful bunch of greenery is now something that resembles a… David had not been quite sure what to call it as he had realized that he had completely zoned out and returned to listening to Even with a pang of guilt brewing in his stomach. 

“He makes me feel like it’s OK to be me,” Even had said. “Even when I am an absolute arsehole to him. When I am unwell. When come across like the laziest wanker in the universe, leaving him to do everything whilst I am too lost in my head to realize that he is struggling too. He still loves me. That is what I cling onto when I feel bad. That at least I have him and the kids. Everything else is just irrelevant really. As long as you have your tribe, your people, then you will always be fine.”

It had seemed so simple when Even had said the words, and David had looked out at his own little tribe. His gorgeous darling husband who was sporting a pink sheen all over his pale torso, despite being slathered in suncream. His Italian genes were clearly not playing ball with the Scandinavian summer sun, even though they loved having sunshine late into the night, the kids struggling to go to sleep when the sun was still out and there was fun to be had. 

The girls have had a ball, loving the new found freedom of being able to run wild around the house. There are no real dangers here, except the lake, but the girls can swim, and he has drilled into them never to go near the water unsupervised.

Now he is close to panic himself, his chest tight and he keeps looking back towards the main house with fear. He feels like he’s been pushed into a corner, again. Like going on this bloody holiday when the safer option would have been to just stay at home and relax in the safety of their little flat. But then all 5 of them crammed into the flat for a month would have ended in world war 3 and full on carnage, he knows that. They needed to get out. Do something. Make memories with the kids. 

_The kids are fine, Even and Isak are great and they have raised twins, and done a fine job with it. It is important for the girls to experience independence from us. And they love Maria. She’s like their idol. Sleepover with Maria. You should have seen their faces, they were so excited!!_ Matteo had looked just as excited, jumping up and down with a bag slung over his shoulder and a blanket in his arms. _We are going to have a drink down by the lake, just the two of us._

So yes, David and Even had talked about it, because David really thinks he should sit down and talk with Matteo. Like they used to. Just bond a little, with no pressure. He meant for an hour or two. There had been no sleepovers involved at that stage. No blankets and bags and an empty house to come home to when they might have had a drink or two and his defences would be down and he might not be sensible. Not sensible at all. Because he still finds Matteo disturbingly attractive, and the thought of a blowjob is kind of up there with things he thinks about. Giving one that is. He might be into that. On his terms. Giving him a little time to adjust to the thought. Not getting dragged down onto a deserted beach where….

There is no one around. They haven't actually seen another human being anywhere near the farm, apart from the Norwegians. 

“It’s raining.”

“It stopped several hours ago. And the blanket has a waterproof backside. And we can eat inside the sauna.”

“We are going to get bitten to death by mosquitoes,” he tries. 

“Yup!” Matteo says and grabs his hand. 

Then he lets it go. Stops on the little trail leading down to the lake, and just let’s his fingertip trail along Davids cheek. 

“Small steps. Small movements. No pressure, babe. I promise you. Let’s just sit by the lake and have a drink. I have a bottle of sect, and two glasses, and a romantic picnic.”

It almost seems natural. Like instinct, the way David leans in and kisses his husband. His darling darling boy. 

“I dread to think what is in the romantic picnic.” David laughs, and Matteo blushes. 

That wasn’t nice. He only meant it as a joke, but then Matteo is not known for his picnics. There has been more than one infamous pick nick trip where Matteo either forgot the food, or the ice blocks and none of it was edible, and Andreas had cried over the chicken drumsticks and all the little dead chickens that were in his lunch.

“I asked Even, he made it for us.” Matteo huffs out. “I promise you it is safe and looks rather yummy. Pizza rolls and cherry tomatoes and some Scandinavian gourmet chips and homemade dip. You’ll like it.”

“Sorry.” David whispers, trying to look calm. Panic rising in his chest. The instinct to flee building as he reaches out and carefully tangles his fingers in Matteo’s. “You know I love you, don’t you?” he says quietly. 

“I know you do. It’s you and me babe. You and me against the world. Always.” 

“I’m sorry that I am such a mess. I just need time, and it’s been good being here. It’s just when the kids are not with us I get shitty, and then all these bloody worries crop up…”

“I know, but you know as well as I do that the kids are safe here, they are safe at school, and you don’t worry about them every day at school, do you? The girls are safe at Kindi and Andreas could probably outrun anything around here, even the rabid moose Fredrik keeps going on about. They are fine, and to be honest, they would probably rather be without us than with us right now.” He winks. And David’s stomach churns. 

“I can’t do sex.” He blurts out and pulls his hand out of Matteo’s grip. 

“I am not having sex with you down on that beach. Firstly the mozzies would have a field day with my dick, and the sand would get into all kinds of places where we don’t want them, and finally. David. Darling gorgeous boy, there is nothing I would like more than to bend you over that log over there and fuck you into oblivion, but I do understand. I do know where you are at in your head, and please don’t make it into anything bigger than it is. One drink. Two drinks. Pizza rolls. Crisps. And I would love it if I could hold your hand and kiss you a little. Just a tiny, you know. Kiss. Have a swim. That’s all. That would make me happy.”

David has been smiling from somewhere in the middle, because Matteo is a total child and he always knows how to say the right things. Even though they sound all wrong in his head, he always makes things better. A little. A little lighter.

“I like kisses.” David says, and steals one. Just a little one. And Matteo’s fingers gently stroke his own. 

“Can I hold your hand?” he replies. “No, scrap that. Hang on.” He clears his throat, and puts on that damn silly voice he does. The one where he sounds like a posh Italian twat with a suspect accent. “Herr Schreibner, would you do me the very large honour of taking a walk down the lake with me? I promise that your virtue will be intact by the end of this fine evening stroll.”

“Wanker.” He giggles, and Matteo smiles, that shy smile he still gets away with from under his fringe. He needs a haircut. He needs to smile more. He needs a lot of things David wishes he could give him.

“Can I tell you something without you shouting at me?” Matteo asks as they start walking slowly down the path. 

“I suppose so. I’ll try not to shout.”

“You never wear your packer anymore.”

“Too much hassle. And anyway the harness doesn’t sit right anymore, and it just seems a lot of extra work and cleanup for something nobody notices anyway.”

“I notice.” Matteo says softly, “Not that it matters, you look amazing whatever you wear, but it used to give you confidence, and you always said it made you happy.” 

“Not happy, but it made me feel more, you know, like everything looked perfect. When it’s not. It stopped making a difference a long time ago.” 

“I know, but maybe you should wear it. Like for special occasions. Just to kind of, you know. Maybe.”

“I didn’t bring it.” David sighs. Maybe he should have. It just didn’t seem important. Far from important actually. Just another thing to pack and forget and perhaps leave behind. Yeah. Because that was always fun. 

“Remember Paris? You left it at the AirBnb, and we couldn’t afford a new one so you emailed them and asked if it was possible to post it back to you. We were both cringing so hard when the parcel arrived, and they had wrapped MrLimpy in clingfilm.” Matteo laughs softly at him.

Yeah. Good times. Young innocent times when things hadn’t been so damn hard. 

“I don’t even know what has happened to MrLimpy,” David smiles. It’s the truth. He can’t for a minute remember where he last saw it, probably hidden away at the back of the wardrobe among clothes he never wears anymore.

“I brought him.” Matteo says softly. “Don’t shout at me. I just thought you might want to… perhaps, like a special occasion.”

“It’s not an accessory, you know.” David can’t help being snarky. 

“No, David, it’s a rubber prosthetic dick. And it looks bloody sexy on you, harness or not. So suck it up and just tell me to fuck off, or I can get Mr Limpy out and he can have a swim in the lake with us.”

_Oh, fuck off Matteo,_ he thinks as he shoves him into the brush, making sure he falls over in a place covered in pinecones. Serves him right. He will have bruises up his bum to match the myriad of mosquito bites he already sports .

“I’m not getting naked,” David tries whilst Matteo just laughs. 

“I am. And there is nobody around for miles. Humour me. Get naked and for once, just let go. There will be no sex involved. Apart from kissing.”

It’s stupid. He shouldn't feel so self conscious, but then Matteo always was a stubborn shit. It’s a few minutes of hesitation, watching a stark naked Matteo wander into the freezing water. Splashing and calling him a coward. Winking. Promising all sorts of things if he just gets in. Clothes on or clothes off. 

“It’s cold.” David tries. 

“Suit yourself. I might have to come and pick you up then and drag you out and dump you in this shitty lake. Because you are swimming with me. In the water. Now. Otherwise you won’t get any pizza rolls, and MrLimpy might die a horrible death in that sauna over there.”

“You are cruel.” David hisses and yanks the shirt over his head. 

“Would you let MrLimpy succumb to such a cruel fate?” 

“Fuck you.” 

“I think you should keep him safe. He’s in the outside pocket, with the harness.” Matteo teases, then promptly dives under the water, disappearing out of sight.

It’s half panic, half relief. He never liked being watched, but there. Yup. there he is. Mr Limpy. In a ziplock back alongside the harness that he hasn’t worn for years. And…

“You brought a buttplug?” He almost shrieks as Matteo’s head breaches the water.

“Yeah? I’m a frustrated bottom, you know that. If you ever feel like sticking that thing up my arse, feel free. But I promised no sex, so it will stay in the bag, with the crisps and pizza rolls. Scouts honor.”

“Fucking hell Matteo, I mean, the pizzarolls look fantastic, but you fucking brought a buttplug in the picnic bag? I think this one is one for the history books.”

“Best picnic of all times?” Matteo tries, and he is laughing. Which makes David laugh as well, because talk about ridiculous. Absurd. Everything he loves about Matteo Florenzi.

“You win.” He snarls, spluttering with laughter. “I haven’t even had a drink and you fucking win. Turn around whilst I get this harness sorted.”

“Yes, Sir,” Matteo shouts and dives under the water again. 

It’s the weirdest thing frolicking around naked in the lake. Stupid. Funny. Freeing in some ways. There is nothing to distract them here, no mobile phone waiting to deliver messages of doom. Lilly is probably raising hell and Lottie will be eating her weight in cinnamon rolls or whatever they were apparently baking. Andreas will be fine, lost in his own world of music and whatever occupies that brain of his. Yet he manages to relax, a little. Sitting here on a blanket stark naked being fed cherry tomatoes by Matteo who looks like all his christmases have come at once. 

“You look amazing,” he says softly. “You still make me feel all kinds of lucky that you chose me. That you are mine.”

“I never stood a chance. You kind of bludgeoned me with feelings that day in the pool. Remember? Shouting at me for being selfish and stupid because I had you now and it wasn’t just down to me. I loved that. I loved that you knew we belonged together, despite all the shit that came with me being me.”

“You being you is no shit. You are mine. You always were.”

“I know, babe.” 

Matteo lies back, swatting away another insistent mosquito buzzing around over his flat stomach. 

“You really want to have that vasectomy?” 

“Yeah. It’s a minor op. Risks are minimal. Worst case I will be pissing with a cathether for the rest of my life, or my dick will be fucked and I will have to borrow MrLimpy’s friend MrStiffy to fuck you, but hey. We can deal with that?”

“Don’t make jokes about Mr Stiffy. He gets very upset.” 

It’s almost like they are young and stupid again. Well who are they kidding, they are still stupid. Perhaps not young, but stupid. 

“Do you want to head back?” Matteo says softly. “We have finished the drinks, and there is….” He shakes the last of the crisp crumbs out of the bag. “No crisps left. Zero.”

“You didn’t save me your last crisp?” David shouts and rolls over so he can kiss the stupid, stupid boy he calls his husband. 

“You might have to punish me.” Matteo sighs happily. 

“What did you have in mind?” David laughs. “You promised no sex. So that leaves, spanking. Removal of wifi rights. Oh, darn, we have no wifi in the first place.”

“Just shut up and kiss me, David,” Matteo grunts. 

He does more than that. He said no sex. They don’t have sex. But he does trail his mouth down Matteo’s chest. He sucks on the nipples that are hard and erect from the chill in the evening air. He swats a mosquito away, pretending there are a few more around his legs. Kisses the soft fuzz on his stomach, letting his nose root around in the musky scent around his groin. His Matteo. His lovely gorgeous Matteo. 

No sex. Which is a fucking shame when Matteo is hard as a bloody rock the minute his hand starts to stroke, up and down his length. He didn’t mean to, it was just like, instinct? A habit? Perhaps a little need for some kind of intimacy. Something safer than lying tangled in a bed?

“Turn around, babe,” he hisses, his stomach birthing little butterflies. Perhaps this he can do. It’s safe. Consensual. Easy. Pleasurable without him having to think. 

Matteo whines softly as his dick hits the course blanket underneath him. His hips arching up, humping the sand underneath them no doubt hoping for some friction. Some relief. 

“Fuck.” He whimpers as David gives his arse cheek a little swat. Just softly. Just to show who is in charge here. 

“Stay still. No humping. No touching yourself. “

“Please,” is all Matteo says. So softly that it is barely audible. 

There is lube in the bag, of course there is. A brand new sealed bottle, that David makes short work of, removing the cellophane with his teeth, as he checks the plug. It’s one they used to play a lot with, in the past, it’s not too big so should not need too much prep.

“Spread...” David says softly, and Matteo does exactly what David needs him to. They seem to move in a well rehearsed dance, and Davids lube covered fingers stroke gently down Matteo’s crack, making his body shiver all over in anticipation. 

It’s strange, sex. He’s never needed much to get off, just the fantasy or the dirty talk used to dial him up on the inside until his front hole was a wobbly knot of need and his libido was screaming for anything. Touch. Penetration. Kissing. Release. 

It’s still there, the warmth of arousal deep in his groin, his fingers pushing and tapping gently at Matteo’s hole, the ring of muscle clenching in anticipation.

“You want this?” he questions softly. 

“Do it.” Matteo groans, his face now leaning to the side, his eyes closed facing the sun.

“Fingers or plug?”

“Both.” He hisses as David’s finger breaches the tightness of his arse. Softness and warmth and clenching and Matteo holding his breath. All the little things that makes David clench himself. Humping his packer, letting the straps of the harness give him a little friction of his own. 

He used to love this. He still does. It’s sexy. Arousing. A little dangerous, doing this out here in the open with the sunshine kissing their skin, and the mosquitoes buzzing dangerously close to them. 

“Two?” 

Matteo doesn’t respond, just arches his hips further up, making the second finger slide in easily with a drizzle of added lube. 

“Please tell me that MrStiffy is in the bottom of the bag?” His mouth suddenly says. Because he sure as hell didn’t say that. Did he?

Instead Matteo’s hand shoots out and unzips the side pocket, revealing the harder cousin of MrLimpy, nestled carefully in it’s pouch. 

“Fucking hell.” 

“Please.”

“You are going to kill me.”

“Just shut up and fuck me babe.”

“No sex.”

“You’re one to talk, I was just lying here all innocently and then you start to finger my arse.”

“Your fault for having a cute arse.”

“I do have a cute arse.”

“Shut up.”

“Auuughhhghggggg.”

Yeah, that bit always made him a bit quiet. It’s rough, shoving a lube slathered plug straight up his hole, but Matteo can take it. He always needed it a bit hard. Rough. Tumble. Playful. Sexy as fuck, whatever it is. 

Matteo is slowly humping the sand, the plug glistening in the flickering light from the lake water, and his voice is a mere low hum as David grabs the edge and pulls the plug slowly from it’s hole, only to shove it back in again as Matteo roars.

“Fuck babe, don’t tease. Just yank it out and fuck me.”

“So bloody impatient.”

“Need it. I fucking need to come like a bloody fountain. Too much pent up spunk in my balls.”

It makes David smile. It feels strangely safe here. Naked. A cool breeze caressing his boy as he swaps the packers out, and lubes up MrStiffy. He hasn’t done it for years, but the movements seem familiar, letting MrStiffy slide up his front hole anchoring it firmly in place with the straps, as his knees find the right spaces in the sand as he sinks down on top of the warm body beneath him.

“You ready, babe?”

“Fuck me.” 

“You got it.”

He reaches down and teases the plug out, his mouth sucking a bruise into Matteo’s shoulder. And another. And one more for good measure as the plug comes out and lands in the sand. 

He doesn’t stop to think, just lines up and plunges in, as Matteo roars with pleasure and stretching and no doubt a fair bit of pain, but he fucking loves it. Adores it, his hips humping the sand in desperate jerks on top of the blanket as David slowly pulls out and slams back in. 

“FUCK YEAH” Matteo’s voice is all raspy. Weak. Shouty. 

“More?” David teases. They used to do this, all the time. Fuck. Tease. Make love.

“Hard and fast. I need it. Want to come, so badly.”

“I’ll make you come. Hang on babe, here we go.”

His hand snakes down underneath them both and grips Matteo’s dick, that is already weeping onto the blanket. His hand is drenched in lube, and Matteo doesn’t waste a second fucking into his slick fingers, trapping his hand under the weight of them as David starts a slow steady pounding into Matteo’s tight arse.

It’s hot. Sexy. Surprisingly arousing, considering. Maybe it’s the fact that for once David has managed to switch off. Perhaps he has been able to get out of his head for a few minutes. Perhaps it’s the sun, the water, the breeze, the low hum of silence, deafening in his ears.

“Fuuuuuuuuuckkkkkkk.” It’s not even a voice, the low screech that comes out of Matteo’s mouth. It’s carnal. Primal. Awesome. Arousing. Wonderful.

And David orgasms, all his points of contact rubbing deliciously against the harness and the prosthetic anchoring itself into his front hole with every thrust as his body shivers and shakes. 

It’s weird. All consuming. Deafening. Draining. The way his body collapses on top of Matteo’s, his limbs unable to move. Nothing works, not even his brain, all these thoughts churning through quicksand trying to make sense.

“Papi!”

It comes from a distance. Shouting. “Vati!!”

“Oh fuck.” Matteo whispers, pushing up.

“PAAAAAPPPIIIIII” 

“Damn.” David hisses, trying to unstrap the harness. 

“Here!!” Matteo shouts into the distance. “By the lake!”

“I love you.” David whispers. He does. So so much. He just wants to stay in this little haze of bliss. One second longer.

“Thank you.” Matteo whispers back and kisses his lips as he pulls his swimming trunks up over his now sand covered arse. “I needed that. We needed that.”

“We did.” David whispers as the three girls come running out of the clearing. 


	13. Even

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The babysitters are trying to catch the kids, Even is painting and Isak is fishing. And there is coffee and talking.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry.” Maria tries to catch the two smaller girls. She is out of breath and her shoulder-long, dark hair hugs to her forehead and almost covering her green eyes, it’s wet from the rain drops still in the leaves of the bushes she has apparently chased the twins through. “I tried to keep them up by the cabins, dad told me to do that, but they just ran. I think they wanted to say goodnight to you.” She looks apologizing at David. 

“Maria! Lilly! Lottie!” He can hear Even’s voice from a distance.

“Yes, dad, we’re here. By the lake. Both the girls and I!” Maria shouts back. She looks at the girls with a slightly frustrated glance. “Komm mit mir, Mädchen!” she tries. “Sorry, I don’t speak much German. I don’t know if they understand me”, she adds, looking uncertainly at Matteo. 

David has already run off to catch the girls. He is only wearing his shorts, his legs are covered in sand. Matteo points at him. “Looks like he caught them”, he smiles at Maria. “And don’t worry, I am sure they understand perfectly well what you mean, they are just… not always in the mood.” 

Maria smiles back at him. “I guess that’s how it is. I sometimes babysit for a child at home, she is also like that. She is 5, dad says I should ask for double payment if I have to put her to bed.”

Matteo laughs. “It’s probably worth it, though,” he says.

Maria looks at the girls. “I better go get them, dad said they were staying at our place this night?” 

Matteo nods back at her. “Yes, if it’s still ok? But we can of course take them home, no problem.”

“No, it’s ok. We have already made the bed for them, they got to choose their bed… clothes, or whatever it is in English, themselves.” Maria waves her hands to draw a bed in the air. “Lottie chose my old dinosaur stuff and Lilly a pink flowery one from auntie Bella”, she smiles.

“Sorry about that. It was really not our intention to disturb you.” Even has reached the beach and halts next to Maria and Matteo. His Birkenstocks are not made for running, they were flopping around his feet and now the itchy, wet sand has filled them. He looks carefully around them on the beach, uncertain about how much the kids actually disturbed Matteo and David. He winks and nods discreetly at Matteo a second after he sees the unmistakable bottle of lube lying in the sand next to they picnic bag.

He feels happy inside when he sees it. It’s not his business to ask, or to peek into this, or to even think about what was happening on the beach, but considering the bright mood and broad smiles of both Matteo and David, and the conversations he has had with David during the past days, this is most definitely good. And he wants to take the kids out of here now, get them inside the house, get them to bed, he wants to do everything to let Matteo and David continue whatever they did, desperately hoping the bubble didn’t burst completely by the shrieking girls coming in for hugs.

He is looking at David, who holds both the girls close now. He has bent down to hug them, and is smiling while he tells them something and points at Maria. “Geh mit ihr, Mädchen”, he says, hugging them again, laughing as Lilly, or Lottie, Even doesn’t remember, plants wet kisses all over his face. “Ich liebe euch,” he adds with a low voice, but loud enough for Even to hear it.

Matteo is still waiting in front of Even, watching David and the girls with a silly smile. “Come over here and give me a cuddle, too!” he shouts. David tells him to come down to the shore, but he shakes his head and makes a face. He is standing in a kind of awkward position with one foot completely still, trying to get them over while making a face in David’s direction. Even knits his brows and looks at him, until it dawns on him that he is probably hiding something, and quickly looks away, at the girls instead. “Maria, let’s get the girls to bed!” he says in a cheery voice.

He grabs one of the girls by hand while Maria takes the other, and they start making their way back to the cabin. He halts and turns against Matteo and David, who are beaming next to each other by the blanket. “We will make sure they stay inside all night!” he laughs. 

“Thanks!” David says as he grabs Matteo’s hand and winks at him while Matteo looks down at their entangled hands and tries to pull off from David’s obviously tight hold. They are already fighting about who has the hardest fist crunch, it seems, Even smiles at the thought of himself and Isak trying to do this discreetly when they were younger and more playful.

Isak is waiting for them in the kitchen. He has prepared rolls with Nutella for the children, and is cutting thick uneven slices of sausage to line a roll for himself. It’s probably comfort food for them, as it is for most kids, so it may calm them down for the night, or at least make them feel safe here. At the sight of the brown spread they are running towards the table, ignoring Even’s weak attempts at getting them to wash their hands first. He doesn’t even know if they’ll understand something like “wash your hands”, he has no idea what such everyday phrases are in German. What he was taught in his high school German classes was far more complicated, or at least in a completely different area. He may know his German _Geschichte_ and _Literatur,_ but he has no idea how to hold a conversation with a child or about everyday life like garden work or what tools and ingredients you would need to make scrambled eggs. 

The girls munch their Nutella filled rolls as if they haven’t seen food in ages, but Isak has enough experience to shake his head and point at the cheese when they reach for the Nutella jar again for their second round. Suddenly they aren’t hungry anymore, but happily goes upstairs to go to bed. Even hadn’t even noticed it on the side, the roll that Isak has made him, carefully lined with folded slices of ham. Just the way he likes it. It makes his stomach churn with anxious butterflies again, because he loves Isak. Loves him so much it hurts. Loves all the little touches, the gestures, the way he always thinks of him, even when he doesn’t say a word and refuses to look at him.

Even reads to the girls when they have gone to bed. He is surprised none of them are laughing or just getting bored by his meagre attempts at reading a book he hardly understands, but apparently it sounds German enough for them. Then he tucks their duvets and says good night, and apparently it’s enough, as the girls whispers a quiet good night and remain silent.

He goes downstairs and finds Isak in a chair in the living room. He probably finds it chilly outside, Even thinks, usually he’d sit on the deck and watch the lake in silence. “Do you want a beer?” Even asks as he walks toward the kitchen. 

“No thanks, I am fine”, Isak answers.

The evening meal is still at the table when Even enters the kitchen. He sighs silently, and starts to clean it.

“Just leave it. Maria, Fredrik and Andreas haven’t eaten yet.”

“Right. What are they doing?”

“No idea. They are upstairs. Didn’t you check on them?”

“No, I forgot. I can do it now.”  
“I will do it”, Isak says and gets up without waiting for a proper answer from Even.

Even shrugs and gets a beer from the fridge. It’s one of the last cans, so they should go to Systembolaget to get some proper beer soon, he thinks. He says it out loud as he can hear Isak enter the room again behind him.

“We have plenty of folköl from the supermarket, isn’t that good enough? We don’t have to be so snobbish all the time!”  
Even looks at him and wonders what’s wrong. There is clearly something, he just doesn’t understand what. “Sure,” he mutters. “How were the kids?”

“Maria and Andreas were playing some shooting game, and Fredrik was reading a comic. As usual.”

“Will they come downstairs to eat?”

“I don’t know. Probably not yet.”

“So I should put away the food then?”  
“Can’t you just leave it out, they will just eat when they get down?”

“But it’s quite warm tonight, the food will be spoilt.”

“It’s not that warm, it’ll be ok,” Isak protests.

Even comes to sit down. He takes the other chair. The view is slightly different from Isak’s, he can see more of the endless forest and less of the lake. He sits still for a few seconds, then turns against Isak. “What’s wrong, babe?”

Isak stills. “Nothing.”

“Sure?”

“Yes.” He doesn’t meet his eyes.

“You have just been so… different lately.” He looks at Isak, not sure if he expects or wants an answer.

Isak doesn’t say anything, then puts down his glass hard on the table. He meets Evens eyes with ice cold eyes. “Have I? What about you?” His voice raises at the end.

Even frowns. “Huh?”

Isak is quiet for a minute. “Where did you find the girls today?”

“They were at the lake,” Even answers, confused.

“So, by the lake, huh.” Isak doesn’t meet his eyes.

“Yeah, by the lake.” He is silent for a second, then adds, “Let’s say we all should be happy the girls didn’t run off three minutes earlier. Things would probably have ended different then, one way or the other.”

“That close.”

“That close.”

“You wanted to join in?”

Even twitches. “What?”

“Nothing.” He gets up. “I’ll go to bed. Can you lock the door when you are done with your beer or whatever?”

“Isak, what’s the matter?” Even sighs behind him.

“Nothing.”  
“Right. It’s not _nothing_ ,” Even states.

Isak stalls and turns toward him. “Ok, it’s not _nothing_ , then. It’s David this and that all the time. You have been hanging out with David all the time, more than with me. You made them a romantic picnic. Now you claim you didn’t know they were having sex on the beach just before you arrived!”

Even doesn’t really get what he means. He is not used to Isak being this blunt, and opens his mouth to answer him when one of the girls is crying from the bedroom. With an annoyed sigh Isak turns towards the stairs and walks up towards the bedroom.

It ends up with Isak sleeping on a mattress in the girls’ room since Lilly woke up Lottie and they both wanted to go home. The promise of Isak sleeping together with them made them stay. At least for the period until Even went to bed, but as he puts in his earplugs to make sure he isn’t disturbed during the night, he hopes they will remain calm all night.

***

The next morning is warm and sunny. The air is damp from the night rain, but it seems to quickly dry up as the sun hits it. A thin layer of mist resides over the forest, slightly obscuring the view over the lake.

Even tried to sleep after Isak left. He tried all his regular tricks. Thinking about sleep. White noise. He tried to jerk off, but his brain wasn’t with him. For a while he pondered joining Isak in the girls’ bedroom, or just asking him to come back, maybe he needed his breath, his heat, the naked skin towards his own. But something in him made him not do it, maybe the mood of Isak when he left, perhaps his own reluctance of talking about things, he just wanted to sleep.

He remembers tossing and moving for what could have been hours, but most probably less, he doesn’t remember feeling the dawning sky outside. Still his brain felt foggy this morning. His thoughts are slow, it feels like everything in him, both his mind and his limbs, are in slow motion while the surroundings are at normal speed.

The girls woke up early and were back at the other cabin hours ago after being fed Nutella and cartoons and drawing books and every silly trick in the book to make them stay just a little bit longer. They threw a tantrum when Even suggested they could go to the lake with him, “nicht ohne Vati!”, and in the end they just had to let them go. 

Even took them to the cabin. He considered letting Isak take them, not wanting to add fuel to a fire he didn’t know they had, but since the girls were insistent and Isak was in the shower, he had decided he’d better take them. 

He made sure to knock the door extra hard and long before letting the kids roam inside. Matteo came downstairs in a disheveled t-shirt and boxers with ruffled hair and sleepy eyes and thanked them for looking after the kids. He seemed happy, there was something in his steps and his smile that told Even something had changed, or was about to change. Even smiled back at him and left quickly, didn’t want to disturb the bliss, or perhaps rather end up feeling bad because he forced David out of the happy bubble he so desperately seemed to need.

Isak has taken the others to the lake for fishing. The teens could go on their own, but Isak said he wanted to go and then Matteo and David and the twins also joined. Even was glad when he saw them leave. One more day in comfortable peace, not heavy silence.

Now Even is carrying a paint bucket and brushes from the shed. The house needs a new layer of paint, it’s probably a couple of years overdue. Even has promised to do it for a while, at least since last summer. Sometimes it feels like they aren’t really made for this continuous state of work and repair that having an old farm apparently is. 

Even sighs as he inspects the wall. The old paint is flaking. He should get a steel brush first and remove the old layers, then apply the new one. 

The old house is red. Even has been trying to imagine it in another color, not a too bright one, that will be too harsh in these surroundings, unless they continue with the traditional red color, but he doesn’t like it, so he went for white, the color their old coastal cabin had when he was a kid, a safe bet. But adding some color would be nice, light yellow or sky blue, bordering the greyness of the cloud layer on a rainless day? He frowns, he only bought this bucket of white paint in the store, but wasn’t there a few other buckets in the shed? Maybe he can try a few combinations, perhaps mix his own paint for testing it. He puts down the equipment and returns to the shed, he has to get a ladder there anyway.

Half an hour later he finally starts painting. He found an unopened can of green paint in the shed. Aunt Bella must have bought it one of her last summers her, it was probably her intention to repaint the house, but she never got around to it. It will be fantastic, he imagines the grass green color, like the small house he saw on a beach in Denmark, in a row of colorful small buildings. He smiles as he smears the paint on the wallboards, a younger Even wouldn’t have hesitated, he would have chosen a solid color from the beginning, or several of them, not considering what would fit in here, just what he wanted, maybe he would have painted a rainbow house.

He frowns at the wall. The paint looks different up there than in the bucket. Lighter, more like turquoise, maybe it’s too light, he thinks, maybe it will only look sick. He looks at the bucket of green paint again. It’s still almost full so it feels like a waste to throw it out. But maybe the color will become different than he thinks when it dries. With a sigh he continues to paint. At least he can use this as a foundation layer, the house will probably need several layers to cover the red anyway.

“Hallo!”

Even startles when someone suddenly stands just below the ladder. David’s brown eyes are looking at him above his broad smile. “Painting today, huh?”

“Yeah, the wall needs a new layer.” He looks towards the forest and the lake, he can’t see anyone. “No fishing for you?”

David shakes his head. “Nope. I let Matteo sleep in when the girls came back this morning and I had a nap after breakfast instead. And then they were all gone when I got up.”

Even smiles at him. “Lucky escape perhaps, for you. There are a shitload of mosquitos near the lake when the weather is like this.” He looks at the clouds. Huge cauliflower shaped dots gathering towards the north, maybe they will come this way, maybe not. A thin layer is lining the rest of the sky. The sun is visible as a light circle through it. The air feels sticky, it’s warm today, warm and humid after days of rain.

“Do you need a hand?” David asks, looking at the paint. “Nice color, by the way. Like… green?”

“I thought it would be more like grass. It kind of look dark mint, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe it gets different when it dries?”

“Yes, maybe.” He isn’t quite sure.  
“Do you have an extra brush? I can do the other end of the wall. Matteo and I tried to paint above each other once, but that got messy fast. Not recommended. Well, maybe some extra mess had happened, too.” He blushes slightly and laugh dreamily, his eyes seem distant about the small smile for a moment.

They paint together in comfortable silence for a while. Even listens for voices in the forest and tries not to think about Isak possibly stumbling upon them. He tries to concentrate on the brush movements instead, it’s kind of calming. The regular back and forth movement of the hand along the panels, the other hand holding tight to the ladder, the bucket hung on a hook a couple of steps above his feet. The paint is good to paint with, liquid enough to spread well, but not too runny. The brush makes thin stripes in the layer, but it kind of melts out to an even surface within seconds. The smooth movement back and forth, back and forth, it reminds him about Mr. Miyagi, he smiles at the thought, tries to make the movements identical for each stroke, back and forth, back and forth.

David chuckles below him. “Lost in thought there, are you?” He is looking up at him with a smile.

Even shrugs. “Yeah. A bit.”

“Everything ok?” David’s brown eyes still follows him.

Even stills. Normally he’d just say yes. Normally he’d just say everything is chill. Normally he’d just say everything is better. And none of it would be wrong, he is not lying, things are better, right now the day is better than the day before and the day before that again. He will probably have ups and downs today, as he did yesterday and the day before, but in general, when drawing the average line, the day is and will be better than the previous day, he is pretty sure about that.

But this is David. He is listening. He is not Isak, absolutely not Isak, not in any way, just the thought of anyone thinking he would replace Isak with David makes him feel like he can’t breathe. 

It’s just that they have this connection, he immediately felt it when they met, he could listen and talk and listen again, and he doesn’t ask about things he doesn’t want an answer to, if he asks he is also ready to accept the answer. Not everyone is that. Even remembers in a faint past when people used to ask them how he was, and his answer used to be that he wanted to die, or that he had thought about killing himself five times today, and “we’re not yet at lunch, thank you very much”. That was also the truth, but they were not ready to hear it, and they became so stressed. Some of them freaked out and ran, some looked nervous around for assistance, like there would immediately be a crew of hospital workers there ready to take him back to the madhouse, some would be worried, some would ask if they should call his parents, most would just call them. And none of them were ready for the honest answer to the question they thought they had to ask.

David isn’t like that. He seems ready to listen, no matter what Even wants to tell him, and Even doesn’t get the urge to be scaringly honest, there is no need to scare him, he can just tell him what he _feels_ , not what he wants to do or thinks or does, as he has said before.

“Not really,” he sighs. He continues to paint, his eyes are focused at the brush again, back and forth, back and forth.

“Ok?” Davis sounds hesitant.

“No, nothing.” Even shrugs. 

He ponders telling David about Isak’s weird behaviour. Even still doesn’t understand why, and he is not sure if he can or should tell David about it. It’s not Even’s place to share things about Isak, but on the other hand it’s not only Isak’s thing either, because it’s also Even’s. He would have talked to his therapist about it, of course, but the therapist is not here now, it’s probably vacation time for them as well so he can’t do an online consultation either, should he have wifi or proper network, he adds wryly in his thoughts. 

“No, tell me about it.” David has taken a break from the painting and is looking up at Even.

“Isak is acting so strange,” he says. “I think he is… jealous.” It feels weird to say the words. “Jealous? At what? Or whom?”

“No idea. You, I guess?” He sighs. “He complained that all I do is hanging around with you.”

“Jeez.” David laughs. “As if you’d be interested in me when you have Isak.” He blushes. “Or, I mean, he seems so perfect for you. You seem to love him so much. You talk so fondly about him, everything you say kind of shout love,” David says.

Even nods. “Yes, I have no idea where it comes from.” He sighs. “Isak has been jealous for ages, really. He was in a fight once because he thought someone was interested in me.” He laughs a dry laughter. 

David laughs with him. “Wow, in a fight for you! That hasn’t ever happened for me.” He looks dreamlily out in the air. “Or… Matteo has been fighting for me, numerous times, all the time, it seems. But not like getting in a physical fight for me.” He laughs as if the thought itself is ridiculous, a soft laughter, his eyes are glittering.

“Yes, but is hasn’t been like this, not for ages. Now he seemed… angry? As if it all was too real for him?”

“Are you two talking?” David’s question is candid.

“Talking? Yes…” Even lingers. “I guess?” He feels uncertain. “Or… well, of course we are talking. We have kids… but it’s always centered around them, around practicalities. Who does what, groceries, driving to sports practice, laundry, money…” 

His stomach knots when he thinks about money. The last months have been tough. Not because they have really had too little money, because they manage, they are not rich, but they get by, even with Even’s drop in income. But they don’t talk about it. Isak has just been paying more than his share, Even knows. He makes sure the car is filled with gasoline, he shops, he bought new shoes for Fredrik when he had grown out of three pairs at the same time, he gives the kids money for new summer clothes, fills the fridge with beer, not only the bland lagers he likes himself, but new, weird beers for Even, too. 

“And then it just gets harder to talk,” David states.

Even doesn’t answer. It feels like David can see through him right now, or like he is a mirror of him, just a more perfect one.

“You know,” Even begins to say. Then he looks at the wall he just finished painting and at the almost empty can of paint. “Shall we take a break now? I need to find some more paint, I wonder if aunt Bella bought more of this color or if we have to go to the village, or perhaps the town, to get more.”

“Aunt Bella bought this paint?” David laughs. “I thought you were the crazy one in this family. I really love this color,” he quickly adds with a smile. “It reminds me about… dunno. Some graffiti, I think.”

“Yeah… it was her,” Even smiles sentimentally. He is sorry he never got to know Bella, her farm and books and notes and everything she gathered over the years make him feel like she is a lost piece of his past, a part of him he’ll never get to know.

They sit down at the bench under the apple tree. The shade is cool, for a moment Even wonders if he has remembered to apply sunscreen on his neck and shoulders. The skin feels warm, but he is pretty sure he remembered it, he closes his eyes and tries to backtrace what he did this morning, before he went out, in the hallway, in front of the mirror, the white bottle on the small table, the icky feeling of sunblock on his hands, the smell, yes, he is pretty sure it was today he put it on.

Even gets them coffee from the kitchen, he used the moka pot, two cups of dark espresso, cinnamon rolls from yesterday’s batch quickly reheated in the microwave while the coffee brewed. 

David nods approvingly. “No capsule machine here”, he smiles. 

Even laughs. “Sorry about that, really. We got it from Isak’s father a few years ago, and just put it in the rental cabin since none of us... well, since I don’t approve of it.”

“Coffee snob, are you?” David jokes.

He shrugs. “Environmental injury. I worked as a barista for many years. Things were never the same after that.”

Even takes a sip from his cup. The rim is warm against his lip and the hot liquid fills his mouth with its burnt taste. It’s calming and energizing at the same time. “I have been stable for years now. I have taken my medicines regularly, adjusted the doses, regular checkups, therapy, check lists, all the right things.” He looks at some spot far away in the middle of a cherry tree. “So I guess I am doing well.” He sighs. “The kids are getting older, Isak is getting older, I am getting older, the world is moving forward. Maria and Fredrik will be out of here in like 5-6 years.”  
“Really?” David laughs. “You’ll let them?”

“You have met them. Don’t think I can stop them.”

“I guess you are right.”

Even looks through the trees again. He wonders how far he could see here if the landscape was different, if there were no trees here, or more hills, or the cabin was on top of the slope instead of almost next to the lake. Maybe there would be less mosquitos, he thinks while scratching a bite on his calf.

“But what then?” he asks. “We all know that children aren’t here forever, they are meant to move on. But what happens when they leave? Isak and I have changed, we are not the ones we were when we met, god forbid. The kids are clearly changing as they grow, they mature, they change into their personality, it’s kind of predictable how a baby develops through its milestones to toddler and child and teenager and then becomes and adult. But we are already there, we are adults, how do all of it shape us?” He looks at David, who takes a big breath of air, letting it slowly sip out of his lungs before he speaks.

“It terrifies me, the thought of the kids leaving. It’s kind of weird just thinking about it, it being just Matteo and me, bouncing around in a flat that is suddenly far too big for just the two of us. What would we do? Would we still have anything to talk about? We’ve already lost all the things we used to do as a couple, we don’t even like the same TV series anymore, we don’t like the same things, all we do is things for the kids, and then, we hardly do anything as a couple. We don’t even sleep in the same bed most of the time. One of us ends up with the girls, and the other one goes and sleeps in the girls bedroom. It’s crazy…”

He goes quiet and kind of gazes into the distance.

“Not much time for sex then.” Even says bluntly.

“No. And that is my fault. I just. I don’t know.” He sighs. Like this is something he doesn’t really want to talk about. “I’m just not the same person that I was when I was 18. I was so fierce and fighting for who I wanted to be, and wanting to be this perfect boy, and there were all these things in my head that were so important. And Matteo saw right through me, I could never get away with any bullshit, he just loved me for who I was. Then things changed, I mean we had Andreas and all the bullshit went out the window, because, well you know. Kids. We had a kid and all that other stuff suddenly became unimportant and kind of, confusing? Is that the right word? Diluted? Sometimes I lose myself completely and I don't even know why or what I am anymore. I don’t know what Matteo sees in me, and that’s what scares me. When we no longer have the kids to keep us glued together, will there be enough left to make us stick?”

“When I first met Isak I thought I was my illness. It was all I could think, that I was shaped around it, and that he chose me despite my illness, that he ended up with something he didn’t deserve, or even worse, something he didn’t expect or accept.” It looks like David is about to interrupt him. “Now I know this is wrong. He just chose me, period. The disease didn’t play a role at all, he fell for me before he knew about it, and he stayed with me even after the major episode I had just after I met him, and through all I have had later.”

“It has been a bumpy road over the years, but we have coped. All of us. But now I feel like my identity is changing, or should change. I have settled into my role of being a dad first and foremost, caretaker for my kids, responsible, caring, but also in my job role, I am creative and cool and go to a proper job every day like normal people do.”

“But who am I? I sometimes feel like I don’t know. And then I start thinking too much, about everything, and I start asking myself if all this is right, if I have really been in this role for so long and if I can let it go now.”

David frowns. “Why do you want to let it go? You will always be a father?”

“Yes, I guess. But it’s… different. Still.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes?” He looks at David. “What else should I do? I mean, I have to change, the kids are moving out, I can’t be pretend-dad when they go to Copenhagen or Boston or London or wherever they end up.”

“But what about the tribe? You said as long as you always have your tribe, and then everything will be fine.”

Even frowns. The twisted paths of his brain are confusing, or confused, he is not sure which is most right. He is often doing this, warping into his own thoughts. Sometimes the way out is simple, sometimes it’s complicated, he isn’t sure which one it is now. The solution to his worries seems more complicated, more crumbled, not just about finding his tribe.

“When we graduated gymnasium the seniors had this clan thing. Our motto was ‘12 years family’, but for me it was different, I was only there for my last term. But we still keep in touch, some of them became good friends, and Matteo, of course, I met him there.” His eyes are shining and he smiles a distant, shy smile. “They became my clan. I chose them and they chose me.” 

Even smiles. “Isak has also talked about something similar. About choosing family. Family can be something you are born into, but you can also choose your own.”

“Exactly. And then the clan, or family or tribe, is with you for as long as you need them. I suppose the bands are somehow stronger than with a birth family, because you have made a conscious choice about them, they are not something you are born into.”

“Do you mean biological family doesn’t matter?”

“No, not at all! But a chosen family isn’t forced upon you, it’s a mutual choice, and I guess that makes it harder to make the choice to leave as well.”

“Nah. I don’t think so. At least I don’t hope so.” David is looking at something far away and doesn’t say more.

***

They hear their voices before they see them, eager chattering coming closer through the bushes. Fredrik starts to run as he sees Even. “Look, what we caught! Andreas got a huge pike, it’s like 50 cm long and dad says it’s probably 5 kg!” The kids are beaming and Andreas can barely hold the pike on his outstretched arms. “Dad, what are we gonna do with it? Can we fry it? Is it true that it is poisonous? Can we make fish cakes? Daddy, can we have fish burgers? Daddy says you have an awesome recipe from grandpa! Andreas says he is vegetarian, but we can’t make vegetarian fish cakes from pike, so he says he may want to eat them anyway since he caught the fish all by himself, but I killed it, dad!” 

Even smiles while watching the kids. They look so happy and eager, and younger than they really are. He remembers catching his first cod when he was seven or eight, from the pier near the cottage where he spent every summer from as long as he can remember. He remembers the joy and pride, all the questions about what to do with the fish. He knew what fish it was, and apparently how to catch it, but the way beyond was unknown, he had never cooked at that time, so how the fish would become an edible dinner within a couple of hours was a mystery.

Now he knows it, of course. He still feels the thrill of catching it, and of preparing a meal from a fresh fish. His fishing interest has grown after he became a father himself. His own father was always eager to drag him along his fishing trips during summer, for pike and cod and trout, but he was never very keen on it. There was too much waiting time, he is too impatient, but yet it’s something relaxing about it. 

In his mind he has already started cooking the pike. For this many people baking it on the grill would be easiest, but pike isn’t the best fish for baking due to its numerous small bones, so he is considering fish cakes, or probably burgers, as they are both faster due to their size and also something that feels more summer-y, with good buns, chili or garlic mayo, some fresh tomatoes, lettuce and radishes. 

He glances at the pike, Isak is probably right that it’s about 5 kg, so it’s a good size, really, and he should be able to make one batch in the oven while frying some on the stovetop so it shouldn’t take too long. And he can use the recipe he found after aunt Bella, apparently someone has been catching pike here before, they have onions and some bacon, he should probably add it only to some of the mixture, so the taste doesn’t disappear, and then some herbs, he has loads of them in the kitchen garden, chives, dill, maybe some spearmint and chili would be nice, although he has never tried it before.

“Even! What have you done?”

It’s Isak’s voice. He sounds shocked, disturbed, angry, afraid, all feelings at the same time.

Even looks confused at him, follows his eyes, then sees the green wall that Isak is staring like frozen at. 

“Uhm, I painted,” Even says, a bit uncertain.

“Yes, I can see that! What the hell have you done?” Isak frowns and looks suspicious at him.

“Das Haus ist grün, das Haus ist grün!” One of the twins are dancing around on the lawn. The other one is suspiciously getting near the paint bucket and points to it. ”Ich möchte auch malen!” Then she walks determined towards it and grabs the brush Even has left on top of it. “Fuck,” he mutters. “David! Your kids wanna paint, should I let them?” His voice is cheery. 

Matteo comes running. “What the heck!” He takes the brush from the girl and moves the can to a safer position. 

“But I want to paint,” the girl protests. 

“You can’t paint with adult paint,” Matteo answers. 

“Why not?”

“It’s hard to wash off and it’s harsh on the skin.”

“But I won’t get it on me,” she protests. The hands she tries to dry off on her t-shirt leaves green stripes. She looks at them in shock. “It will come off in the wash, won’t it?”

“Well, probably not,” Matteo replies with a frustrated edge to his voice. “Come on, let’s get inside to change them at least.”

Even rushes after them. “Fuck. I am sorry,” he says. “I think there is some white spirit in the shed, and I have paint removing sheets. And wet wipes, they are actually incredibly effective, can you imagine a product meant for baby bums to be that efficient to remove permanent paint?” His breath is quicker and more stressed now. He feels guilty for not putting the paint properly away.

“They will handle it, Even.” It’s Isak’s voice behind him. “Just let them fix it. They are not morons, you know. Not imbecile newbies. They are probably more practical than you are. They manage without you,” he adds.

Even stills. “Yeah, I guess you are right,” he murmurs, stops in his own tracks. His eyelids are suddenly stinging, he blinks to try to make it go away but it only gets worse. Of course they manage without him. Everyone does. They don’t need him.

In a flash it’s like the forest becomes grey, the grass dull, the flowers loses all their colourful petals, dead leaves are covering the ground, adding to the silent palette in front of him, the birds have stopped singing, he can no longer hear the wind through the leaves and the branches, no smell comes from the woods, no raw soil, sunwarm ground, clean summer breezes. 

The picture in his brain mirrors his mind, it is his brain, or maybe his mind is his brain, or his brain his mind, it’s all getting a confused swiveling mass of confusing thoughts.

“Come on, Even, it’s not that bad.” 

He can barely hear the words, or maybe they aren’t words, maybe they are only in his mind. 

“Come on, Even, it’s gonna be ok.” Isak’s voice is stronger, no longer a whisper, it’s a voice, forcing itself through his ears, his brain, his mind. 

He looks around. The forest is green, the grass is another shade, the flowers are blooming, red and orange poppies, some yellow, blue, pink, he doesn’t remember their names, the bees and bumbles are buzzing and humming from flower to flower, the smell of paint is strong through his nostrils, mixed with the smell of Isak, his shampoo, soap, coffee, sweat, fish. 

Isak’s thumb is stroking his cheek, his other fingers curved around his chin, resting above the artery, as if he needed to check his heartbeat. His breath is warm along his face, his arms are warm and safe around Even. 

“Don’t go anywhere. Stay with me.” Isak’s voice is barely a whisper, a brush of air along his skin. Even shivers in slight panic, he isn’t going anywhere, but he fears Isak is, so he clutches his fingers around Isak’s arms and hangs on to him as if everything depended on it. In a way it feels like it does, because if Isak leaves him now, he doesn’t know what will happen, if he can cope with it, if they all can.

“I am not going anywhere,” Isak whispers, as if he can read Even’s mind.

“Neither am I,” Even whispers back.

“It felt like your mind did for a moment,” Isak speaks softly into his hair. His breath tickles warm against his skull, Even thinks he can hear the smile in his voice as the hair tickles him back. 

“I am sorry,” Isak says as he pulls Even down on the lawn. 

“No, it’s ok,” Even answers. “I don’t mind you being a bit eager,” he laughs.

“No, not about that.” He draws breath. “I am sorry I overreacted. That I seemed jealous. Of you and David.” He looks down, then meets Even’s eyes again. “Apparently I overreacted again. Like I use to,” he sighs. 

Even strokes Isak’s back. It’s been too long since he felt him like this. “You are right that we have spent little time together recently.” He plays with his hair. The blond straws are soft between his fingers. “You know, when I first met David, and Matteo too, it felt like we shared so much. Or at least I felt like I did,” he excuses. It’s not in his place to say what Isak feels, he knows that. “They are so easy to talk to, and yet they are strangers without the ballast or luggage that other people we know carry.”

Isak nods. “I know what you mean, Even. I… you are better than me at talking, Even. You have always been.”  
“Always?” Even asks with a grin. “Sure?”

“Well, not always,” Isaks giggles. “But in general you are the talker here. I think, you talk.”

“You bet I think, too,” Even mutters. 

“I know,” Isak whispers with a kiss at his nose. “Maybe you should talk a bit more about what you think?”

Even nods. “It’s just been so much recently. With the kids and work and everything….”

A shade falls over Isak’s face. “We should talk more,” he mutters. “Really.”

Even holds his arms around him. Isak is strong above him, pinning him to the ground with his legs around his hips. Even lets his fingers slide under his t-shirt. The skin on his back is warm and slightly sticky, covered by a layer of sweat after a day by the lake. He feels the salty taste of Isak without even tasting him. The smell is hitting his nostrils, following the paths to his brain and making him pull Isak closer. His hips are grinding against Isak, he is smiling down at Even, his nose against his own, a soft Inuit kiss. Then their lips are meeting in a soft kiss, softer than Even wanted, but the low laughter of Isak brings him back to reality, to the voices of the others, the little girl crying in anger, probably as Matteo tries to remove the paint from her, the laughter of Maria and Fredrik, Andreas squealing, David’s deep voice.

He breathes out and feels Isak hold him harder towards the ground. He is warm and heavy above him, a comfortable weight, the smile in his eyes, they are still green, like the forest and the grass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your comments so far!  
> Did the babysitters manage to catch up? Any thoughts on the new colour? Have everyone talked enough now?


	14. Isak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're moving on again, this time to the middle of week 2.

  
  


The next days are warm and sunny, with thunderstorms coming in in the evenings, making the nights slightly cooler and more bearable, although the air feels thick with humidity after the rain. They chill on the patio, swim a bit, do a little maintenance on the house and the barn. The doors no longer creak after he found a can of oil in the shed and greased all the hinges. Hours later he found rusty pools of oil on the doorsteps. His reflex was to be annoyed at Even for not cleaning up, then embarrassed because he didn’t remember it was himself that actually did this.

He has been worried about Even recently. About his mood swings and spontaneous behaviour. About himself and Even, their relationship, their family. Even has been hanging around with David a lot recently, and Isak doesn’t blame him. He doesn’t feel like he has been good to Even recently. It’s just that he gets so sad when he sees them, in close conversations, talking, smiling, laughing, loosing up in a way it’s been a long time since he has seen Even.

Things have been so tense, it’s like they have been tip-toeing around everything. They have managed, of course they have managed, the practicalities have been smooth, they have both been there, taking care of the kids, the house, working, cooking, cleaning, at least enough to get by until the maid service get in fortnightly.

But they haven’t talked, and this have become sorely obvious when he sees Even with David, because they remind him of how it used to be, how it was when it was him and Even being so close, so close up. When it was him Even’s blue eyes glittered at when he laughed.

And he feels bad about how he tackles it. He should be more mature, talk to Even, use some of the skills he has gained over the years to actually talk to him. They are not teenagers anymore, they are adults. Mature. Grown-up. Role models. But all he does is yelling at Even, getting angry at him, showing him the cold shoulder.

Afterwards all he feels is sadness. The anger combusts once it’s out. If he just managed to stay there for another minute, another second, he would sling himself around Even, hug him, say he is sorry, sorry for everything, and can you please talk to me because you are the mature one here, he would cry.

***

Isak lies in the hangmat, looking at the house. The birds are chirping around him, a magpie is surprisingly tame, sitting in the cherry tree above his head. The sky is blue above the rattling leaves, perfectly blue against the green, like it can only be on a warm summerday.

He looks at the barn. The corner beam under the roof looks more rotten than last year, he thinks, they should get a carpenter to have a look at it. Despite aunt Bella being surprisingly good at house maintenance, there is a lot to do. The weatherboards should be changed, the house should be painted, at least Even is about to do that, even if the colour came as a surprise.

Isak smiles and looks around the garden. The trees should be cut and shaped, but the fruit trees should probably be left until after the season or even in the winter, if they ever manage to get here while it’s cold. The roses by the fence are growing wild, Even talks about them being tamed into a nice portal around the gate, like he has seen on some interior blog. Vilde would be delighted to see it, he thinks with a smile, maybe they should invite her here, he thinks, she may have some ideas and even the spirit to make them into actions.

They only have these summer weeks here, and it’s never enough. They spent the first two summers trying to make the place their own, the third collapsing into nothingness and stress, and now they seem at loss for a plan about what to do next. None of them are handymen, a physicist and a film maker are quite far from the carpenter and the gardener they need most here.

And then there is the daily maintenance, the things they don’t get a break from even on vacations. Lawn mowing, with the antique push reel mower, watering, pruning dead flowers off the plants, picking berries, the raspberries are ripe and they should do more than let the girls indulge on them, making jam, maybe juice, he remembers his mother saying something about it being easier than making jam, and it was consumed faster. Although slow consumption of food seem to be no problem in this household, he sighs.

He gets up from the hangmat. It’s still a couple of hours before lunch time, so he can get something done, he thinks as he heads for the barn.

He sighs downhearted when he gets inside and turns on the light with the old-fashioned switch. Several yellow light bulbs are lit, casting gloom rays over the rubbish inside.

There are probably treasures as well, but most of what he can see now is rubbish. Black garbage bags full of clothes. The old mattresses they replaced. A pink velvet sofa with matching chairs. Materials, beams, planks, wallpaper rolls. Paint, loads of paint. Tools. Garden furniture. A pile of wood. A couple of old bikes.

In one of the corners there seem to be more antique things, darked woods, teak and oak, he thinks. He decides to start in that corner, there may even be something of value there, while most of the rest is probably rubbish. Maybe they could organize a barn sale, and then rent a skip bin for the rest. Or several skip bins.

There are some chairs there that looks nice, apparently a dinner set since there are six of them. He looks for the table, and finds it under a load of boxes. He lifts them down, they are heavy, it looks like newspapers, why do all old ladies have to collect newspapers, he thinks with a frustrated eye roll, remembering how his mum had filled the basement with bags of newspapers.

The table looks ok under the boxes. A few scratches, but no serious damage as far as he can see, and no water stains. He snaps a few photos of it with the chairs, and sends to Noora, maybe she has some advice as to what to do with it, she has had some freelance pieces in cottage&garden magazines recently.

He starts to look through the boxes, may as well sort them now, they can probably bring them to the recycling station later. The top layers are newspapers, from the 80-ies and 90-ies. They are mostly local papers, but a few Norwegian ones too. Aftenposten and VG, summer editions with water temperatures and smiling people with sunglasses, a stray December newspaper with the royal family in front of a Christmas tree in the upper front page corner.

Under them are a pile of papers. It looks like more personal papers, a diploma from secondary school and high school, proof of craftmanship. Isak doesn’t recognize the name on the diploma, some Erik N. Albrektson, maybe the N is for Næsheim, he wonders, although he has never heard of any Erik. Maybe it’s aunt Bella’s son, he wonders, but the diplomas are from the late 60ies, and he is pretty sure Bella was too young to have a son graduate then.

“Pappa! Isak! Isaaaaak! It’s lunch.” It’s Fredrik’s voice from the lawn outside. Isak puts down the papers and makes a mental note about checking if Even or his parents know anything about this Erik.

***

_He can’t move. His arms and legs are stuck. He looks down. He is fastened with some kind of leather harness to the lounge chair, black cuffs around his arms and ankles, a tight belt around his thighs and chest._

_First he can only hear them, panting and heavy breathing, silent chuckling, a sqweel, complaint about it being too cold, followed by a moan for more._

_Then the smell hits him. The smell of sweat, musk, something slightly rancid, warm spices, bodies, fluids, his nostrils shivers at them when the brain has processed them and the brain reconnects again._

_The room is dim, but finally his eyes are adjusting and he can see clearly what were the shadows he could hear and smell._

_They slowly appear from the foggy black and white contours to more details, he can see three ghosts, arms and legs materialises, heads, he can see what they are doing now, one of them is giving head, another enjoying, the third is massaging the second’s back, hard strokes with long fingers, he would know those fingers everywhere, because they have been everywhere, he has kissed every millimetre of them, nipped, sucked, licked at them, felt them over himself, outside, inside, around, up and down, now they are moving, towards the front of the darker person, pinching the nipple, the moaning becomes more intense, now he can see that the other person is also restrained, in a similar harness as himself, his face hidden under the fringe, he is unable to move his legs and arms, forcing his hips up and against the man jerking him off, he only musters small, static movements, nothing of the fluidness from the massage, the third man has moved behind the first now, massaging his butt, it’s slick from oil, the hands slide easily over them, thumbs along his creak, finger, fingers, slowly, slowly._

_He pants loudly, tries to get free, he doesn’t want to watch this anymore, his dick is pulsing hard between his legs, making wet spots against his abs, it hurts, he wants to grab it and jerk off, or get Even to do it, he needs Even now, he cries silently for him, but can’t make no sounds._

“Isak, wake up. Isak.” The calm voice against his ear. He is fighting with something around him, a harness, he is taking it off, pulling the crumbled sheet down.  
Isak reaches for his dick, it’s still hard, but he can grab it now, put his fingers around it, move them, jerk into them.  
“So, you’re horny?” Even’s voice is rasp.

Isak tries to shake his head, he is not horny, he just wants to get rid of this, spill everything, empty himself. And with a moan he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not everything is bright, it seems. Even if things seem better on the outisde, Isak still has a lot on his mind. Guess there are still some things to talk about?
> 
> Thanks for your kind comments on our previous chapters ❤️


	15. Matteo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the second week of the holiday and it's one of those lazy Sundays....

It’s been a few calm days. Well, that’s a lie, he thinks as he once again has to roll himself out of the sun lounger and crawl awkwardly on all fours to get up from the strange position on the grass. The lounger is old and creaky and if you try to stand up the proper way, it tends to fold in on yourself and trap your legs underneath you. He’s done that a few times now, much to the amusement of everyone else. Not that he minds that they laugh at him, but it bloody hurts and the scar on his ankle itches as much as the freaking mosquito bites.

David says he barely feels them now, his system getting used to the little buggers. Matteo isn’t getting used to anything, he thinks as he scratches his arm. Another angry red bite swelling under his skin. Andreas is sat on the veranda with an electric tennis racket, swatting it angrily at the wildlife that buzzes around him. He hasn’t seen the girls for hours, and David? He has no idea where David has gone. 

Well, his stomach is rumbling and it’s definitely lunch time. It must be, he thinks and stubs his toe on the wooden step as he stumbles towards the front door.

“Na?” Andreas says absentmindedly, not even looking up from the book he is reading. Book? Matteo almost says something, but decides against it. His son is reading an actual book. And by the looks of it he is almost half way through it. He makes a mental note to sneak a look at the title later, find out what he is reading. Because whatever it is, he will be a good father and order some more similar books. Books are good. His son reading books is awesome. 

Not that he reads himself. Apart from medical textbooks and dictionaries. The odd article from a journal. Everything is online these days, and what he doesn’t know he can always google. Look up. Ask on the many forums he belongs to. 

But not now, because now he is standing in front of the fridge just staring at the contents in disbelief. Because he’s pretty sure he stacked the shelves last night, getting a full pack of meatballs out of the freezer, along with a loaf of bread. He can see the bag that used to house the bread sticking out from the top of the bin. 

“Scheisse,” he hisses to himself. Because of course. Breakfast. It got eaten. Along with everything else when you have two grown men and a teenager with a bottomless pit for a stomach. And the girls. The girls eat. Loads. 

“Andreas?” he shouts. A little angrier than he should. 

“What?” his son shouts back. Accompanied by the buzz of a wasp flitting around in the window. 

“The meatballs? They were supposed to be for tonight’s dinner? And I was going to make cheese toasted sandwiches for lunch for us all. Any idea where they went?”

“Meatballs?” Andreas hums in reply. “Fucking love those meatballs. Can we get them in Berlin? Do they sell them? Fredrik says you can get them in IKEA. Do we have IKEA?”

“Andreas, did you eat a fucking kilo family pack of meatballs? What the fuck, kid?”

“No!!” Andreas shouts back. “I’m a fucking vegetarian, dad. Hey, they are not vegetarian? They aren’t. Are they?” 

He suddenly stands next to Matteo, staring intensely at the contents of the bin, before digging out the pack of meatballs from underneath the remnants of breakfast. 

“Contents: kott fran…What the hell does that mean? Kott? She tricked me. Damn.” Andreas laughs out loud, throwing the packet back in the bin with a shrug of his shoulders. “We were pulling an all-nighter on some old school shoot-up game and I was starving and couldn’t leave the game, so Maria made these sandwiches with that beetroot thing and tomatoes and those meatballs. I didn’t even question it. We had loads. You should make meatball sandwiches for lunch. I’ve eaten them now, and I ate that fish thing the other day, I might as well continue my hedonistic streak until we can get more vegan foods.”

“Andreas…” Matteo whines and leans his forehead against the cool shelf of the near empty fridge.

“I’m starving.”

“We are fucking miles from a shop and I had planned the meals so we had enough food to last until tomorrow, and now you are telling me you want fucking meatball sandwiches? Well, you can walk to the fucking shop and get some meatballs yourself. You ate bloody dinner!! And lunch? What am I supposed to feed the girls? Air and beetroot salad? Oh hang on, you finished that as well? There is mustard? Wanna feed your sisters cereal and mustard, eh?”

“Chill Papi.  _ Calmati. Rabbonire _ .“ The little fucker always knows how to play him, speaking italian to him like he’s fluent. Which he kind of is, but Andreas will only ever speak it when he wants something. Or when he doesn’t want David to understand. Or the girls. Matteo has been shit with the girls, there just hasn’t been time to sit and speak to them the way he did with Andreas when he was a kid. There is never enough time. Never enough of him to go round. 

“We have nothing but shit in the cupboards.” He pants, at least enjoying the cool air from having his head stuck in the fridge. 

“Even has food?” Andreas says calmly, like it’s a given that Even will just feed them all. “The girls will prefer having dinner there anyway, Even lets them have dessert. We never have dessert.”

“Sugar is evil,” Matteo says and cringes at himself. They are on holiday for fucks sake, and by the look of the pile of empty sweet-packets in the recycling bin outside, his kids have stocked up on enough E-numbers and sugars to last them a lifetime.

“It’s fucking Sunday as well,” he whines. “I can’t just go up there and ask for Even and Isak to feed us all, not another night. We had dinner with them on Thursday, and then on Friday we had the BBQ, and it’s Sunday. They need a rest and some time away from us as well.”

“We can make it up to them? Like we can take them on a day out? You said we should go to that Moose Safari thing? We could take them?” 

“ _ They _ have already done the Moose Safari, they told us about it, remember?”

“Yeah, and Isak said he wants to go again, and it will be more fun if Maria and Fredrik can come, because I will have company.”

“We won’t all fit in the car.” Matteo grumps. He just wants a day out. With his family. Alone. A-fucking-lone.

“Details Papi.  _ Elencare dettagliatamente _ .”

Sometimes he hates his son. Sometimes his family drive him crazy. Sometimes he thinks about life before David. Sometimes he wishes he didn’t think at all, because the thought of having a life without David and the kids cripples him to the point that his hands shake. 

He needs to go find David. He needs a hug. He needs to scream into a tree somewhere. Scoop his gorgeous girls up in his arms and kiss their grubby little faces until they squeal with laughter. Then he will go find Even and Isak and beg for food, because the thought of getting in a roasting hot car right now to drive two hours or whatever to the nearest shop that is open on a Sunday? Not happening. And Andreas doesn’t deserve the trip however happy the thought of wifi and cold soda would make him. Milkshake. He could kill for a McDonalds Milkshake. 

He leaves Andreas still standing by the open fridge door, like he is willing for all this food to appear like magic. There is nothing in the freezer compartment but a frostbitten bag of what once was some kind of cauliflower florets. Half a packet of dry pasta in the cupboard festering alongside some sugar cubes and a jar of chutney some guest must have left behind years ago. He should ask if he can throw it away. It’s probably years out of date. 

Maybe he should just forget about lunch and go and have a nap. The thought is tempting, but the thought of his little girls going hungry, and to be honest, Matteo gets grumpy at the best of times, and when his blood sugar plummets he’s no fun for anyone to deal with. 

So he walks with determined steps towards the main house, where the front door is open and the mosquito netting is blowing casually in the breeze. 

“Hallo?” He shouts. He doesn’t want to disturb anything. Then he cringes a little thinking maybe Even is asleep. 

“Hallo?” he says, his voice softer. “Anyone home?”

“Hey.” 

Isak is in the kitchen, on his knees, shuffling a pile of sheets into the washing machine. 

It’s not like Matteo looks at other men. Well, apart from in porn. He reads the Men’s Health magazine. He has a healthy interest in fine looking specimens of the human race. He’s a bloke, and he’s not dead, OK? But he has to admit, Isak is fine. A strong pale chest, and a prominent sixpack stacked on his stomach, despite his many admissions that he never works out, just runs now and then and, well, Even had laughed and Isak had blushed and they had all known what Isak was thinking of. A healthy sex drive is very beneficial. Matteo tells his patients this. The people he counsels pre-surgery. Well, he doesn’t counsel much himself, but he sits in on a lot of consultations as part of his thesis research, and anyway, he likes Dr Rametta and they work well together. 

“You OK?” Isak says, standing up and wiping his hands on a towel, then wiping his chest and forehead before throwing it on the remaining laundry pile on the floor.

“Yeah, uhm.” Matteo stutters, standing there like a fool drooling over the dude who deserves none of his filthy thoughts. Not that he was thinking of anything filthy, he was thinking of work, for fuck’s sake. He coughs and tugs at his hair, trying to compose himself into a human adult again, not the flustered teenager he suddenly feels like. 

“I am cleaning the sheets. Freshening everything up, hoping I can trick Even into taking a nap with me.” Isak giggles. “I can barely get him away from the damn paint pots,” he sighs, and picks up a glass from the kitchen table, looking at it, then placing it back. “Bloody kids, they are pretty good at tidying up after themselves at home, but here, it’s like they are in constant holiday mode and all the house rules have gone out the window.”

“Tell me about it.” Matteo laughs, thankful for the change of topic. Because. Well. The dude is just wearing underpants and Matteo is feeling like a right frump in his threadbare t-shirt and washed out shorts. He snorts at his own thoughts. No wonder David doesn’t want to have sex with him, he doesn’t even own a pair of underpants that look anything like what Isak is wearing. Perhaps he should invest. Update his wardrobe. Fuck that, he needs to ask  _ David _ to help him update his wardrobe and to get him some sexy underpants. Tight ones that hug his arse like that. With writing on the elastic.

“Did you need anything?” Isak asks as Matteo’s mind once again has drifted halfway into the gutter, suddenly picturing David wearing said underpants. Damn. Damn hot.

“Yeah.” He giggles like a child and shakes his head. “Sorry, got all distracted there suddenly.” 

Then he blushed because fuck, it’s Isak. Not some random hot dude that he can drool over and show David and they can laugh and David can slap his arse and call him a dirty old man. He’s not attracted to Isak. He’s not. No. Just no.

“Lot’s going on?” Isak says, suddenly looking concerned. 

“Nah, all good.” It is. Things are kind of good. Chilled. More relaxing. 

“It’s good being here,” he continues, shrugging his shoulders to get the words out right. “David needed the change of scenery, and Even has been great for him. David doesn’t make friends easily, I mean, he makes friends, but not people that he can really talk to. He seems to be able to talk to Even, and that is great. Sometimes it’s good to just be able to talk to someone that understands some of the things that you have been through.”

“Yeah,” Isak says, almost like he is irritated. “I mean, I do, kind of, agree. Even needs friends too. Fuck, he deserves all the friends he can get, it’s just. You know.” Isak leans heavily on the worktop, looking out in the distance as he half snorts, half laughs.

“You know there is no need to get jealous,” Matteo says softly.

“I’m not… jealous.” Isak laughs again, but it’s fake. Hollow. 

“I am.” Matteo says, letting his voice get that edge of cockyness. “I am fucking raging that he can talk to Even, this dude that he has just met, about things he struggles to talk to me about. He should be talking to me. Shouldn’t he?”

“You just said I shouldn’t get jealous!” Isak almost shrieks, gripping the worktop, making the wood creak under his knuckles.”

Matteo can’t help smiling. Classic psychology. Works every time. 

“You are jealous, and that is just the way it should be. You have a very, very handsome husband who loves you to the point that he can barely see through the love haze that the two of you have going on. Even adores you. You just don’t always see it, but that doesn’t mean he can’t talk to other people. Have close friends. Talk about things that he might not be able to talk to you about. It’s healthy and normal.”

“Bloody doctors, you are all the same, talking a load of crap.” Isak is smiling. Thank god. 

“Yup, it’s all textbook doctor shite, mate.” Matteo laughs. “And I wasn’t lying about being jealous. But then, why would David even look twice at some random Norwegian dude when he has all this prime Italian quality stud at home?” He slaps his chest like some ridiculous alpha male and Isak laughs and shakes his head. 

“You are such an idiot,” he says softly. 

“I know.” Matteo laughs. “I wouldn’t make it a week without David. He’s the one that keeps me going. Sorts me out. Puts me to bed at night and gets me up in the morning. Without him I would probably be dead.”

“Did you ever suffer from, you know. Stuff? Do you get it all? Do you understand, like to you understand David?” 

“I don’t understand much, and let me tell you, I have spent years specializing in some of the issues David has spent his entire life struggling with, and I can honestly tell you, I don’t always understand. I struggle with some things. I learn new stuff every day. But I understand depression. I understand losing control of your mind, because trust me, you and I do, too. I bet you have stood at the edge of a cliff in your head and wondered what it would be like to jump. I have. I have wobbled and struggled and bloody lost my mind more than once, but the difference between you and me and Even and David?”

“Yeah?”

“No difference. We’re all human. It’s just our brains are all wired differently. We still live. Eat, sleep, fall in love, have families and die when our time is complete. Some of us just have to try a little harder. Some of us just struggle a little more. Fall a little harder, and cry a little longer. Struggle to swim against the undercurrent, where the rest of the world just go with the flow. It doesn’t make us less human or worth less than anyone else.”

It’s nice to see Isak smile, despite his shoulders sagging, and the way he shakes his head like Matteo is talking a load of crap. Which he is. He freely admits it. 

“I’m talking a load of crap, mate, but seriously dude. Don’t be jealous. Don’t create drama where there is none. Let David have this. Let Even have a friend. I think we will find that they need this. Well, I hardly know Even, but I think David does.” 

“Even is pansexual. He had a girlfriend when I met him.”

“Does that matter?” Matteo says. “I tried to have a girlfriend once. Poor girl. Broke her heart in a million pieces. She still reminds me that I was an arsehole whenever I bring it up. Sara is Lilly’s godmother.” 

“I tried to have a girlfriend too. She was also called Sara.” Isak laughs. “Coincidence? She’s not Norwegian, your Sara, is she?” 

“Nah.” Matteo smiles. “But you know, despite Sara being lovely, she never did anything for me. Then I met David, and BAM. I’ve never been with anyone else. He’s everything. He’s just perfect for me, in every way. Just like Even is for you. I can tell, you just have that vibe. That you belong. “

“David loves you too, you know that, don’t you?” Isak says quietly, looking straight at him.

“Yeah.” Matteo replies. “I love him too. More than he will ever know.”

“Even is everything to me. Well, the kids are too but. But.... But if Even left me I don’t think that I would survive. Talk about bull shit, but I think my heart would break and I would just ...you know… break.”

“Then don’t fuck it up.” Matteo says. “Simple. Just love the fuck out of him and don’t fuck it up.”

“Solid advice.” Isak smiles again. “And same. Don’t fuck it up. Not worth it.”

They fistbump like bloody teenagers. Staring out the window at the girls running around naked in the sun. They’ve obviously given up on clothes, the bloody mozzies bite through anything anyway and Matteo  _ has _ brought enough suncream to last them a year. 

“I actually came to ask if you have any supplies,” Matteo says, and fuck he blushes again. 

Isak starts to say something, stops and mumbles something as he looks at him with a shocked expression. “Yes, we do. I guess…” He straightens up. “Sure. Of course. I just need to go upstairs to get them. We don’t have them in the kitchen. Not anymore, at least.” He blushes. 

Matteo looks confused at him for a minute, until it dawns to him. “Oh. No. No. I didn’t mean that! No. Food. I mean food. Do you have any food?” His face is boiling, his cheeks on fire and his chest wanting to cave in with embarrassment.

Isak is still looking at him. “Eh, yes. Food. Of course. I thought you meant….” 

Then none of them can keep it together anymore. They start laughing, unable to look each other in the eye without starting another giggle. “Jeez…” Isak shakes his head and tries to control the hysterical laughter spilling out of his mouth. “But yeah, I probably have extra condoms and lube if you need any.” 

“Thanks, but I brought my own. Probably enough to last a lifetime, to be honest. At least at this speed,” he says, mostly to himself.

“Glad to hear that it’s not just me that fuck up with the dinner plans.” Isak laughs again, shaking his head and running his fingers through his tangled hair. Then he stops and opens the fridge door. “Mi casa su casa. Just help yourself.”

“I will do anything, and I mean, anything to make it up to you.” Matteo pleads, his chest relaxing knowing he at least didn’t get ridiculed more than that. He’s  _ an adult, _ for god’s sake. 

“Actually.” Isak says, stopping mid sentence and slamming the fridge door shut. “Level with me. Would you possibly keep our kids at yours for the night? I kind of have plans. Involving. You know. Fucking Even’s brains out. Like you do?”

Matteo just laughs and even Isak is blushing as he giggles like a teenager. 

“Knock yourself out.” Matteo splutters. “Let me steal some stuff from your fridge and I will be out of here. You won’t see any of us until tomorrow morning. Promise.” He makes a zipping movement over his mouth. Winks. Giggles again. 

“Just let me grab these sheets.” Isak says, grabbing a pile from the work top. “Need to make a good impression. Clean sheets and all that. Freshly showered…”

“Too much information.” Matteo says sternly and shields his face. Mock laughing. “Just go. Go fuck your guy, and leave the rest to me. Go. Don’t want to hear more.” 

  
  


The man doesn’t reply, just laughs all the way out into the hallway, closing the door behind him, whilst Matteo surveys the kitchen. Then the door opens again, as Isak’s head pops through the opening. “Thanks for the chat. And Matteo?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t fuck it up.”

Matteo chucks the lid for the butter at the door as Isak closes it with a slam, his laughter echoing up the stairs. 

  
  


It's not that bad. It's just not good. It's better than their own flat looks most of the time, but as a doctor he appreciated the order in the kitchen when he came here. People and cutlery and flour and fresh rolls everywhere, it still had the clean vibe. And now even that vibe is almost gone. The garbage can is on the floor, overflowing. Laundry hung over a chair. A forgotten packet of butter that now looks like a yellow gloopy mess, and dried out slices of cheese left alongside a half chewed crust of bread.

  
  


He scratches his chin and sighs. Then he gets to work putting the kitchen back together, just tidying things away, trying to be quiet. Not that there is any sound coming from upstairs, so he wipes down the kitchen table. 

A few minutes later, his stomach grumbling loudly, he almost cries with happiness when he opens the Norwegian’s fridge. Fuck. It’s like a dream come true. Lots of small little boxes of ingredients, all neatly labelled. He remembers it now, Isak’s obsession with leftover food waste, and Even’s habit of buying random ingredients that nobody knows what to do with. 

There are sun blushed tomatoes, which immediately make Matteo smile. Little boxes of red pesto. A packet of chicken breasts. 

“Strozzapreti Pesto Rosso” He mumbles almost like he is drunk. “Pasta ala Luigi” He laughs as he rumbles through the cupboards, grabbing a bottle of sweet chili sauce, some herbs and he almost bursts into tears when there is creme fraiche in the fridge, and there are endless packets of dried pasta that is sitting neatly on the top shelf above the freezer. 

He finds a shopping bag under the sink and loads all the food in it. Surveys the room and switches off the lights. 

It looks better. Tidy. Calming. It looks like someone cares. He does care. He hopes. He wants good things for these people who surprisingly already feel like friends. He wants to talk to Isak again. See if he can get some of these confusing thoughts out of his head. Talk to someone else who actually walks in his shoes. Maybe he needs a friend himself. Maybe he needs to see someone again, and just get all the messy thoughts in his head straightened out. 

Maybe he doesn't. Maybe he is fine. Maybe everything is just a little easier to cope with here in the quiet countryside where his real life in Berlin seems so far fetched that it’s almost not real. 

But for now? He’s going home and feed his little tribe.

“Where have you been?” David laughs as he comes through the front door to the cabin, letting the shopping bag full of food land heavily on the kitchen table, where the girls are sat looking sullen, picking at some dry cereal in bowls in front of them. 

“Milk, shit, I forgot milk.” He stutters, looking around for someone, anyone to help. 

“Andreas, go up to the house, don’t knock, just sneak in and grab a litre of milk out of the fridge. Don’t slam the door. Don’t do anything else. Milk. Milk and out.”

“Was Isak angry?” Maria says, appearing like some ghost from the living room. “I didn’t tidy up the kitchen. It was my turn and I kind of forgot.”

“Nah, he’s just stressed out.” Fredrik says casually. Matteo hadn’t even noticed him sat at the kitchen table. “He’s totally hating on daddy, Even, I mean, for the tiniest thing, then screaming and stomping around like he’s some kind of demon. Have you seen Good Omens, Andreas?”

“Nah, we haven’t got that Prime thing, we only have Netflix.” Andreas sighs as David rolls his eyes.

“Only Netflix? Have you got any idea how much it costs to keep you guys in cable TV, Wifi, Spotify and all the other stuff Papi and I pay for?” David sighs and starts unloading the ingredients out of the bag. “Wow, where did you find all this?”

“Isak and Even’s 24 hour supermarket.” Matteo grins. “We owe them. Big time. Or should I say, Andreas owes them.” He glares at Andreas who glares back. Whilst Maria just smiles. Obviously her German isn’t good enough to understand his sarcastic glare, despite her managing to somehow make herself understood to the girls. 

“Papi, Milch!!” Lottie whines, as David bends down and gives her a kiss. “Moment, bitte.” He sighs and looks at Maria. “Could we get some milk, from yours? Please?”

“Maria? You and Fredrik are staying with us tonight, to give your Dad’s some peace and quiet to rest. Is that OK? I think your father Isak needs a good night's sleep, and I’m sure Even would appreciate some peace and quiet too.”

“Yay!” She shrieks and fistbumps Andreas, whilst Fredrik appears starts looking through the ingredients on the table. 

“Whatcha cooking?” he says. Letting his fingers poke at the remains of freezer icicles on the packet of chicken.

“The best pasta you have ever eaten in your life,” Matteo grins. 

It’s a good day. It usually is here in Sweden. 


	16. Isak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even is looking around. “Where are the kids, by the way?” he asks. “I haven’t seen them for a while.”  
>  “Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Isak says, suddenly tense. “They are staying at David and Matteo’s until tomorrow.” He bites his lower lip and observes Even.
> 
> Even falls silent. He doesn’t answer, just stares at the forest and the view. He looks serious. His eyes are distant, Isak can’t read them. Maybe Even doesn’t want this, maybe Even wants the distance between them, the forced lack of intimacy that comes with kids, the lack of solitude, the constant disturbance and distractions from the kids. Maybe this afternoon is as far as he can get from something Even wants, maybe it will trigger something in him, Isak isn’t sure what, probably not a serious mental condition, but maybe Even’s leave, or his rejection of Isak.

The sheets smell of apples. Green apples, the zesty, crisp kind, reminding Isak of life in the collective. Noora always bought them, and he stole them from her, always promising to get her new ones, always forgetting it, always Noora smiling when he apologized, she was probably happy to actually get him and Eskild to eat something healthy. Well, she was happy as long as this was something she had planned for, as long as they didn’t really steal her food.

He adjusts the mattress cover so it covers all four corners of the mattress, they tend to slide down at the side or in the end. He considers putting an extra towel across it, but knows it will look silly, like a toddler bed. The mattress covers can always be washed, maybe he should have done that, too, he ponders, but he doesn’t have time now. Later. Tomorrow, probably. Before next time. 

He smiles at the thought of Even. His light, his life, his love. Maybe he should just try a bit harder. Or maybe he didn’t need to, maybe this was enough, he just needed to show it. Show Even with every bit and piece of himself that he loves him, that he is loved, that Isak still will stay with him no matter what, that nothing has really changed even though it feels like everything is different than it was when it all started. Matteo may churn out a lot of doctor’s crap, but sometimes doctors are right, he thinks. After all they are scientists, too.

He stretches the sheets tight across the mattress. It isn’t a fitted sheet, but a huge mess of a flat sheet, and of course he puts it on the wrong way first. It just covers the mattress lengthwise, but buckles under the cover and barely covers the ends, so he rotates it ninety degrees and folds the corners like he saw in some silly housekeeping show a night years ago when he was awake with Maria or Fredrik. 

He used to walk back and forth in the living room carrying one or both the babies, shushing them, bending his knees to create a wavy movement, almost collapsing on the sofa when they finally fell asleep and he could put them down, to the party of whatever was on TV, usually crappy daytime TV repeats, he couldn’t concentrate through an entire movie or even a half an hour series. The child physiotherapist would probably have frowned at the BabyBjorn bouncers for sleep, but they were godsent for just sliding the twins easily into, and after all, it shouldn’t matter whether they spent two hours there when it was light or dark outside.

The double duvet here is quite new. They got new duvets, pillows and mattresses when they started using this place. The old feather duvets from aunt Bella’s could probably have been drycleaned and rinsed and refilled. He has read on some forum that it’s a thing, it’s environment-friendly and they are comfortable and all that, but it somehow felt to intimate, and they were more used to the synthetic stuff anyway. But they kept the bed. It’s an old queen size bed, a simple white one with high wooden headboards they haven’t bothered to cover with fabric or pillows. He puts the sheets on the bedding, they are soft, grey, crinkly cotton, and the smell of apples fills his nostrils. 

He imagines Noora’s old room as he arranges the pillows, throws them casually and yet systematically against the headboard, wondering how to put the duvet. Should it be stretched across the mattress, perhaps with all the pillows on top, or folded down, welcoming them to bed? Or just crumbled next to the footboard, to signal it being ready for... bed action? He laughs at the last idea, after all he wants to make the bed look nice and orderly, like an adult has made it, to make an impression.

He digs into his sock drawer to find the lube and condoms he brought from home. Even probably also brought some, he thinks, he knows they are usually in his toiletries, together with his extra medicines. But he wanted to be prepared anyway, silently hoping for some more action this vacation than could fit into a small medicine bag with space for a few condoms with matching disposable sachets of lube. 

He feels the pulsing between his thighs. His boxers are tight above the bulge, he feels the contour of his dick as he strokes his fingers across the bulge. He knows all the veins and ridges of it, knows exactly where to touch it to make it feel best, smiles at the thought of Even touching him, his fingers are magic sometimes. Sometimes he touches him just like he would himself, and it feels good, but other times he touches him in a new way, from another angle, with other fingers, both hands, from a direction he can’t do himself, and it comes as a complete surprise which can make him burst into the most powerful orgasm. He feels himself grow under his slowly moving hand, feels a moist spot grow under his thumb. He’d better get changed again, he thinks, giving his dick a final stroke before he continues his cleaning mission.

Their night stands are full of rubbish, as always. He has a pile of books on his own, research journals and textbooks for next term. He moved them from his bag to the night stand and hasn’t opened one of them yet. He should also give feedback on a couple of articles toom but they are on his laptop, he vaguely remembers the ph.d student wanted a response within a week, before she left for her vacation. He makes a mental note to get it done tomorrow. There is an empty water bottle, he always forgets to fill it, even though the reflex of having a bottle instead of a simple glass straight from the kitchen has been there for the past 14 years. 

Even’s side is more chaotic, probably the same number of items as Isak’s, but more diverse: drawing pads, pencil, pen, the markers he is currently using for colouring, a book from the library, Isak doesn’t know what he is reading right now, if he has a new area or interest, if it’s fiction or facts. Some notes with Even’s untidy scribbling, a wad of tissues, a hairband, wherever that comes from. It’s been a few years since they carried them around for Maria.

Isak puts the condoms and lube in his drawer. It feels very grown up to keep them there, out of sight, but still in reach. He decides not to touch the night stands, just makes sure his own pile of books looks a bit neat, puts the bottle next to the door so he may remember to fill it.

He looks around. The bed is tidy. The curtains are blowing slowly in the wind, letting the fresh air in. The room looks nice, he thinks. Peaceful. Nice art on the walls, sunflowers, poppies, fields, probably some local artist, it was there after aunt Bella. The closets are closed, the clothes fit inside them. Besides the night stands the room is tidy and clean, the atmosphere feels calming and welcoming. He frowns, maybe calming isn’t the association he was looking for, at least it means fewer distractions.

Then he walks downstairs, he wants to wait for Even there. Maybe cook them some food first, he may be hungry, then take a shower. But first a change of underpants again. The spot is clearly visible and is absolutely not suitable for visitors nor kids. He giggles at the thought of Matteo asking for supplies, and his brain going straight into dirty mode. Matteo had called him hot, that’s something he and Even agrees upon, he thinks, even when he hasn’t trained in ages. His abs are still well-built, the muscles standing out when he buckles, and he is strong. He bet he can still lift Even, he remembers when they literally did bed gymnastics, way back. 

The clean laundry is still where he left it. Of course it is. He pushes away the thought of doing something with it, it won’t leave, he can put it away tomorrow. But he digs through it to find some clean underwear. He frowns, he thought the black ones were there, with the red elastics, but he can’t find them. He shrugs and grabs another pair, dark blue, he knows they are tight and hug both his ass and his bulge nicely, and a pair of khaki shorts to wear above them, walking around in only boxers feels a bit too naked. 

He looks at the counters. They look decent, clean, a bag of empty jars and cans hang on the hook next to the fridge, newspapers in a box by the wall. It’s a good place to be, a good place to work, even he can see that.

The fridge is surprisingly empty. For a moment he swears at the damn kids who have eaten all the food, Fredrik’s food raid once again, but then he remembers Matteo, it must be him. He smiles, wondering what he plans to cook. But there are still tomatoes left on the counter, and some onion and salt butter and garlic, and stale bread from the day before yesterday. He knows Even planned to make croutons, but if he fries it in olive oil they are perfect for some simple bruschetta. Even used to cube the tomatoes and chop the onion and garlic, and mix it with a fancy dressing with more ingredients than Isak has patience for, but he knows his own simpler recipe will do, too. He used to make it before, many years ago, it was his signature dish, as far as he had one. 

When he thinks about it, it’s one of the dishes he has made later, too, after the kids were born. He smiles at the memories suddenly springing up.  
An evening when the kids were two and finally fell asleep at the same time, and they wanted a quick meal they could probably cook and eat before they woke up again, and then they ended up sleeping until morning for the first time.  
Starter at a dinner with Sana and Yousef, Sana hardly believed him when both he and Even insisted it was actually Isak’s work she was approving.  
Another time when Maria, then 9 or 10, and was making bruschetta for them, a mix of Even’s and Isak’s recipes. Like Isak she didn’t have patience to chop all the veggies either, it was sliced tomatoes with semi-chopped onion with a heavy drizzle of oil over it.

Isak cuts the tomatoes into thin slices along with the onion, and puts all of it neatly on a plate so he can prepare it quickly whenever Even comes in. He mixes a simple oil dressing of extra virgin olive oil, black pepper and balsamic vinegar and pours it over the tomatoes and onion. The bread looks ok, ready to slice and then heat with some oil for a few minutes. He checks his watch. It’s three, Even has been painting for hours now. The house is green already, he is doing the second layer now. It looks surprisingly cool, although he is not yet used to it and still jumps a bit when he sees the bright walls. 

He steps outside, he can hear the humming of Even from just behind the corner when he opens the door, together with the bees and wind and the other sounds from the nature. It’s quiet now, he is not sure where the kids have gone, maybe he should have used the opportunity to relax in the hammock when they aren’t here.  
“Even?” he asks before stepping barefoot outside. The grass is soft and cool under his feet as he walks towards the low voice. “Når du en gang kommer neste sommer…” He smiles at the old tunes from deLillos, one of his favourite summer songs, good memories from careless summers when he was a kid. “Hey, Even!” 

Even is painting the lower part of the wall. He looks up and smiles when he sees Isak. “Hi. Almost done now. What time is it?” He takes off his straw hat and wipes sweat off his forehead.  
“It’s three. Wanna come inside for some food?”  
“Sure. Just need to finish this first.” He points at the remaining half a metre of the wall.  
“Just that?” Isak asks.  
“Just that. I promise.” Even giggles. “I think I am done now.”  
“Done done?” Isak asks suspiciously. “Not a third layer or a new colour or a picture wall or anything?”  
“Hm. Good ideas!” Even laughs. “No, just kidding. I am done. For now. Let me finish here and then I will clean the brushes and come in?”  
“Ok. 15 minutes?”  
“I’ll have some food ready.”

Half an hour later Isak looks at the bread in the pan. It’s next to perfect when he hears Even at the door.  
“Sorry, I think I am late?” he asks.  
“Yes, it took you half an hour,” Isak says. “But it was as expected,” he adds and leans towards Even for a kiss. He smells of sun and sweat and paint and white spirit.  
“I should shower,” Even tickles against his lips and shrugs under the singlet clinging to his chest.  
“Afterwards.” Isak winks at him. “Lunch first. Or whatever.”

He puts the bread on plates and spreads the salty butter on it. It’s from a local farm, full of fat and salt and taste. Then he adds the tomato slices and the onion, and drizzle the oil mix over. “Let’s go outside,” he says, pointing towards the patio and its cool shade. 

They sit in the nice chairs there, protected from the hot sun by the roof. The view over the slight slope towards the lake is nice, seeing the glittering blue water between the trees is calming while they eat. Isak brought out beers from the fridge, a light lager for himself and some handcrafted stuff for Even. He has given up on knowing anything about beers a long time ago, Even knows it all, and if not there is the internet. Well, not here, but there are no Systembolaget here either, so he hardly needs to research beer anyway.

The food is good. The bread is crunchy with the right taste of garlic and olive oil, and the mix of ripe tomatoes and raw onion is nice together with the fat and acid. Even nods approving, smiling at the sliced tomatoes, but he doesn’t say anything, just smiles and eats.  
“You bruschettas are good, Isak.”  
“Thanks.” He smiles at Even and raises his beer for a toast. “To good food.”  
“Good food,” Even nods back.

Isak looks at the green wall behind them. “The colour is pretty cool,” he says. “It stands out.”  
Even chuckles. “Really?”  
“Well, it was unfamiliar at first, but I am getting used to it,” Isak answers with confidence.  
“So no nightmares about the green monstrosity eating you?”  
“Nothing major. Just a few dreams about being forced to eat vegetables and trees bending down, but that’s normal, isn’t it?” He pushes his other dreams dar back in his mind. They don't matter.  
“As long as the house isn’t running after you I think it’s unrelated.”  
“What would Freud say?” Isak asks.  
“Well, trust me, I have decades of experience with therapists,” Even giggles.

Even is looking around. “Where are the kids, by the way?” he asks. “I haven’t seen them for a while.”  
“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Isak says, suddenly tense. “They are staying at David and Matteo’s until tomorrow.” He bites his lower lip and observes Even.

Even falls silent. He doesn’t answer, just stares at the forest and the view. He looks serious. His eyes are distant, Isak can’t read them. Maybe Even doesn’t want this, maybe Even wants the distance between them, the forced lack of intimacy that comes with kids, the lack of solitude, the constant disturbance and distractions from the kids. Maybe this afternoon is as far as he can get from something Even wants, maybe it will trigger something in him, Isak isn’t sure what, probably not a serious mental condition, but maybe Even’s leave, or his rejection of Isak.

Isak’s brain is working fast for a change. It is raging and he is trying to get his voice around to utter something, to say that it doesn’t matter, that they can get the kids back home, that they can invite themselves for dinner at David and Matteo’s, that they don’t have to be alone, don’t have to do this, whatever “this” is.

“So we are alone?” Even asks.  
Isak nods.  
“For the first time in like, years?”  
“Yeah.” Both of us, at least, he could add.

Even doesn’t say anything for a while, until he turns towards Isak and his face cracks up in a broad smile. He leans toward Isak and grabs his hand while looking at him. “So you’re mine for the night,” he says with a wink.  
“I am,” Isak says with a smile. He stands up and drags Even after him. “Come on, let’s go inside,” he grins.

He pulls Even up and they race inside, leaving the plates and the half-drunk beer cans on the table. Isak casts a glance at them, but as he feels Even’s arm sling around him at the entrance, he decides to leave them. They probably won’t go anywhere, and if they do it will probably be to an ants’ nest.

They run the stairs two steps at a time, and Isak is about to enter the bedroom when Even stops and drags him towards the bathroom. “I need to shower, Isak,” he says, sounding slightly sorry.

Isak startles at the pull. His mind want to rush into the bedrom, remove all clothes, jump into bed, fuck like rabbits. He looks up and down at Even for a second, noticing his damp skin, the shades from the dark spots on his singlet, flecks of paint on his skin. “Sure. Shower,” he nods.

Isak steps into the shower first, and turns on the water. At least the water heater here is decent, he thinks, big enough and placed just outside the bathroom so it doesn’t take half an hour to get warm water. Even joins him in the shower a few seconds later, visibly relaxing as he puts his arms around Isak and pulls him in for a hug under the shower. His lips are tickling against his neck, and the drops from the running shower are covering them.

He grabs the soap bottle and pours his palm full of the blue liquid. With a smile that started once they raced for the stairs and that doesn’t seem to disappear he starts to clean Even. He lathers his back languidly with long strokes. His muscles are hard under the fingertips he is digging lightly into the soft skin. Even is grinding slowly against him. He has put a thigh between his own, and Isak can feel his dick getting harder against his hips. Evens arms are around him, and his hands are sliding down, his widespread fingers taking a good grip of his cheeks. Isak moves his own hands further down Even’s back, until he suddenly lets him go. “Turn around,” he says sharply. His voice is rasp through the running water.

Even turns around and leans towards the wall with his arms wide and his head resting on the tiles between them. The water is running down his back, making small waterfalls along his spine before it’s disappearing down his cleft. “Spread your legs, dumbass,” Isak laughs, and puts his foot between Even’s to make him move.  
“What if I don’t want to?” Even asks with a wink.  
“You do. Just spread them.”

Isak sees some paint on Even’s back and scrubs the spots a bit extra. The skin is red afterwards, but at least the paint is gone. Then he continues his long strokes.  
“Just relax,” Isak whispers into Even’s ear. Even nods and relaxes visibly. He strokes with big hands and soft fingertips, in small circles and long strokes, big circles and short strokes. He bends down to kiss Even’s skin, he tastes, it tastes clean, of water, humidity, soap, perfume, smooth skin against his lips, he kisses and licks. The usual tastes and smells are gone, rinsed down the drain, somehow the scents of Even are gone, but he is still her, obviously in front of him, between his legs, under his hands and lips.

Even seems to enjoy it. His eyes are closed, he lets the water run over him, over him and Isak, resting on his arms and with his forehead against the wall. His chest is raising and lowering in deep, slow breaths. 

The pace of the breathing increases a bit when Isak lets his right hand slide between Even’s cheeks, still wet and smooth from water and soap, the tip of his middle finger hardly touching the tight opening when gliding down, the fingers along it sliding over the cheeks. Even tightens up around the finger, and Isak laughs low. “I am not even there yet,” he grins, and feels Even relaxing a bit under him. He slides his finger back again, up and down a few times, before he slowly pokes the opening and lets the fingertip carefully slide inside. A shiver goes through Even as the first knuckle glides in, and Isak feels him forcing himself to loosen up before the finger slides all the way in. He smiles and holds tight to Even’s hip with his left hand to hold him in place. He slowly moves the right finger in and out in smooth movements.

Even’s breaths are getting faster and more shallow. He tightens against Isak’s finger moving in and out in slow movements. Isak strokes himself at the same pace, pulling slightly at his dick every time Even clenches around his finger. He moves his left hand from himself to Even, starting to stroke his shaft, he knows Even will come soon, his movements are more stressed and the concurrent penetration and stroking will soon get him over the edge.

“No, wait,” Even pants, pushing Isak’s hand off. He turns toward him. “I want to go to bed instead.” His cock is hard and red and pointing towards his stomach.  
Isak nods and pulls out. He lets his hand slide around Even’s cheek and pulls him toward himself with the other arm. “I want you in bed, too,” he whispers against his neck before their lips meet again, for a brief, wet kiss before leading Even towards the bedroom.

They slow down a bit as they reach the bed. It’s like the apple scent calms them down, gives their bodies a break from the steamy bathroom with their slick skin, the tiles, the memories of what they once used to do almost every day.

Even pulls him down and kisses him, a long kiss, a continuation of the kiss they started in the shower, but still different, calmer, more relaxing. His hands are holding Isak’s face, Isak is holding Even’s, pulling him closer, slow movements over his temple, following his eyebrow with his thumb, his closed eyelids, kissing him again. 

“Do you remember when we did this all the time?” Isak asks.  
“Stuff in the shower, you mean?” Even giggles.  
“That too. But I meant in general.”  
“Yeah.” Even looks at the ceiling. “Things have kind of changed.”  
“They have.”  
They lie silent for a while.  
“Do you miss it?” Isak’s voice feels thin. He holds his breath, not sure what he wants the answer to be.  
Even looks at him again. He strokes his cheek. “Do you?” His voice is soft.  
Isak shrugs. “Maybe?”  
Even smiles and pulls him in for a kiss. “I like what we have now, too. This. Everything. Even if it’s different.”  
“Everything changed when we got Maria and Fredrik.”  
“Yes. Or no. It started to change long before that. It changed once we met. Things were never the same after that. And we can’t turn back now.”  
“No, we can’t.” He closes his eyes and moves closer to Even. “And I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t change a thing. No matter how much shit life throws at us. No matter how much stress everything is. I will never change it.”  
“But there were perks of being just the two of us, too.” Even blinks at him. His stroking hand moves further down, strokes his chest, his thumb lingers around the nipple, plays with Isak’s dark curls, before his fingers strokes lightly across the ribs and the abs, reaching the path going down from the navel, follows it slowly down. 

Isak smiles and turns. He puts his arms behind his neck and stretches, pushes his hips slightly up against Even’s hand. He is semi-hard, his dick is filled and resting against his thigh. It dips slightly when he pulls his legs apart.

Even kisses Isak’s chest, he makes a trail down from his throat, closing his lips around his nipple and sucking lightly at it. Isak shivers and smiles, like his body is waiting for Even’s tongue tip, drawing fast streaks across the hard nipple. He can’t resist playing with his other nipple. massaging it lightly between his thumb and index finger. In a glimpse he sees an image of a nipple, something on his phone, a greeting from Even, one of the more decent photos he sent him when he was away once. 

Even is between his legs. He pushes them apart and puts them around his hips so he can get closer to him. Isak feels exposed, his legs wide spread, he knows what will come in the end, but is still excited about what’s between.

His hand is around him now, around them both. “Do you have lube?” Even mutters.  
“Yes, in the drawer.” He nods towards the nightstand.  
Even chuckles. “Always prepared.”  
“I didn’t want to waste your silly sachets.”  
“Maybe I came prepared, too,” he smiles. “Maybe there is something in my bag,” he says while he is reaching over Isak for the drawer.

Isak feels a shiver through is body. “Uhum?”  
“Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe you will find out.” He laughs a silent laugh. “Can you bend your knees a bit?” he asks, and pushes his legs up slightly while he opens the bottle with a click.

Isak’s body immediately reacts to the snap. He always did, with anticipation, desire, excitement, a hunger for what he knows and yet doesn’t know will come. He can’t avoid pushing his hips further up and his legs further apart. His nipples are getting harder and more sensitive, his breath faster and deeper. He clings to the sheets with both hands, he doesn’t want to touch himself now, he wants to let Even do this. Needs this. He thinks Even needs this too, to be in charge and make Isak come apart. 

The first stroke of Even’s tongue makes his brain short circuit, and he doesn’t think any coherent thoughts until he explodes in a haze of stars.

***

They lay in silence afterwards. Enjoying the bliss and the afterglow. Just letting their bodies sink into the mattress and towards each other. A cool breeze blows through the window. They can hear the birds chirping, and the squeaking noises from the crickets, over the grass and leaves rattling with the wind.

Isak rests his head on Even’s chest. His heart beats are slowing against his ear. He holds his arm around Even, drawing slow circles across his ribs, counting them one by one with his finger tips. The skin is damp, they should take a shower again. He smiles at the thought, remembering when they were younger and the weekends were spent in bed or shower, or on the couch or over the couch back or hard against the kitchen counter. He feels a flash towards his crotch again, a comfortable itching where his hips meet Evens’s thigh. His lips kiss his chest. 

“It’s nice to lie like this again. It’s been a while,” he says with a low voice.  
“Mm.” Even tousles his hair. His fingers slides slowly through the straws. He thought about cutting it before summer, even considered a buzz cut just because it is convenient, but now he is glad he didn’t, he can feel Even’s movements through his hair longer now, it’s different from drawings at his scalp, somehow the straws feel more sensitive even though the scientist in him knows it must be opposite, hair doesn’t have nerves. “We should do this more often.”  
“Yes.” Isak sighs. He turns his head slightly so he can see Even’s face. Even is looking at him. His eyes look dark. 

“Isak, I just have to ask you. Don’t be angry at me. But are you jealous at me? For hanging with David?”  
“Me? Jealous? No! No, no!” He shakes his head, first offended, then he rests it on Even’s chest again with a sigh. He thinks about his nightmare. He doesn’t meet Even’s eyes. “Or, well. Maybe I was. I… I wanted you to talk to me, to be with you, but instead you were with David all the time. Everything was “David this, David that.”  
“You know you are the only one for me?” Even says softly. Isak nods.  
“Isak, look at me.” 

Even pushes his chin up to make him look. He meets his eyes. They seem softer and lighter now, glittering with something. “Isak, I know you have been worried sometimes. When I talk too much, when I loosen up with strangers, when I travel and we don’t see each other for long periods. I can see it in your eyes, your entire face closes in fear. And it hurts, it hurts so much that you still, after all these years, doubt us, that you doubt yourself, doubt me. Not because you are not allowed to, because you are, of course you can! But it hurts that you doubt yourself, that you don’t believe that I still love you, that I will always love you. Because I will, Isak. Maybe I will look at other people, talk to them, even flirt, but I will always love you, because I have promised you that. I won’t ever leave you, I will always be here, as long as you want me to.”

Isak feels his face getting wet. Thick drops run along his nose and hit their skin, he can’t say anything, just clings to Even, let his skin get wet, his lips, he laughs and smiles as he tries to say that he will always love him too, that even if he is afraid half of the time and doesn’t trust himself or Even or the world, he will love him, like he knows he has done since the first time he saw him, when the flash hit him and forever bolted them together, his anchor, his life, his love.

“Thump! Thump!”  
Isak startles as there is a pound on a wall, then another one. The noises are weird, he can’t really identify them or hear where they come from. Then he hears voices, male voices shouting in another language, light child voices, followed by giggles and more shouting.  
Even turns around in bed. “What’s happening, Isak?”

Isak is trying to pull up his shorts over his sore hips. The seam behind is itching over the slick and sensitive skin, he already regrets not finding a pair of boxers before running out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, life is good in Sweden, apparently. It usually is. It's sex and talk and harmony. 
> 
> (And of course Even and Isak has been alone, even the two of them, during the past 14 years. Just not for a predictable amount of time. Just not over night. Just not long enough to know they have time for more than a quick fuck or bj while the kids are out. Just not when they actually have enery for more than diving face first into the pillows.)


	17. David

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are sheep. Moose. Mosquitoes. It's like a Noah's ark from hell and things are going so well....or are they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hope you are enjoying spending your summer with Davenzi and Evak in Sweden. We certainly are. Thank you for all the love! x

“ _Lammchen_!” Lottie shrieks, jumping up and down with excitement as Lilly runs around in circles trying to catch the sheep that are roaming the garden. 

“ _Freche Schafe_!!” Lilly shouts, wagging her finger as Matteo awkwardly tries to shoo the startled animals, looking more like a policeman than a shepherd. 

“They are not lambs, stupid,” Andreas says, plonking himself on the ground as his hands start to scratch the stomach on the nearest sheep. “These are adults, even the smaller ones are pretty grown up. They are sheep.” He falls over backwards as one of the sheep steps right over him trying to get away from Andreas’ attempts at affection. “Big freaking sheep.”

“They’re not dogs, Andreas.” Maria laughs, making some weird whooping sounds as she waves her arms around like a windmill. “They are off the farm to the east, these sheep keep escaping from the field up the road, and usually end up in our garden. Our bushes seem to be tasty, and they like the grass.” She whoops again, making the sheep shatter all over the place, one making a beeline straight for Matteo, making him jump in surprise. 

“How do we make them leave?” he shouts. 

“I’m quite sure they are not supposed to eat the roses,” David says, a slight panic rising in his chest. He can cope with students. He can make 30 teenagers do press-ups with a swift whistle. He’s fucking good at teaching. Sheep? He would make the worst farmer in the world, and by the looks of it, Matteo is scared, now standing on the main house veranda, clapping his hands like a fool. 

“HOP HOP HOP HOP!” Fredrik shouts, his voice strong and steady, his hands clapping as he rounds up the rear of what David hopes is the entire herd. Sheep. Fucking sheep.

“Forbanna sauer!” 

Now they have done it. Matteo had told him, Isak and Even needed time. Fucking time. Literally. Matteo had winked. David had blushed. Cringed. 

His stomach somersaulting. Sex, he doesn’t want to think of it. Not again. The other day was good, he was in control, in charge. And his body was detached from it all, despite the orgasm that still makes his groin tingle when he thinks about it. Part of him wants to do it again. Press Matteo’s body down on the bed, holding his hands down as he plunges the prosthetic cock into him. Feeling the tension grow in his limbs as the straps in the harness pulls against his skin, and Matteo’s deep breaths as he adjusts to the intrusion, the heady sounds that always spill from his mouth. The water gathering in the corners of his eyes, scrunched up shut as he lets himself feel. David can almost imagine it, then his head imagines the roles switched, his own hairy legs curled around Matteo’s shoulders, his arse up in the air as Matteo’s cock plunges into him. He likes the idea. He can almost feel Matteo’s hand on him, the way his lips touch his skin, the slow soft strokes of his fingers, their chest pressed together. Heat. Sweat. Closeness. The pictures in his head even making him a little bit aroused. His tongue licking his lips. In reality his body tenses up and his shoulders shudder. 

“They come in and chew on everything. Eat the bloody roses and destroy the grass,” Even says, letting his hands wave about. Shouting like Fredrik whilst clapping his hands, making the now startled sheep run in every direction. Sheep. Fucking sheep everywhere.

“Pappa! Leave it to me and Isak!” Fredrik shouts, his tone full of irritation. “We had them all going the right way, now look at them!”

David can almost feel it himself. The way Even tenses. His son’s irritation. Isak who just sighs and shouts, running around in a pair of shorts, barefoot in the grass, shouting loudly at the sheep running amok with parts of their rose bushes in their mouths. 

“Bloody deranged sheep, have you even heard of sheep eating rose bushes? Only in bloody Sweden,” Even mutters as he pushes past David and makes a beeline for the house. 

He’s pale. The boxers he is wearing far too big for his skinny frame. He hasn’t got the muscle structure of Isak, nor the broadness, he already can see forming in Fredrik. He’s slim. Pale. Hunched, and David’s instincts wants him to follow, give him a hug. Make him a tea and tell him to calm the fuck down. They are kids. Sheep. Things happen. Not his fault. 

Instead he stands there and watches Matteo clumsily try to follow Isak’s lead, as the sheep finally seem to be heading up the drive towards the field where they obviously belong. 

“I hope they at least got to come,” Matteo says softly, coming up behind David, letting his arms snake around his front. 

“Seriously?” He laughs. “You go around worrying if our Airbnb hosts got laid?” 

“It’s important. A good orgasm is good for your health. Doctors advice. You know.” Matteo presses a kiss to his neck. Just there. Just where he likes it. 

“We are still having the kids, so maybe we should get them inside. Load up another film for them to watch? They haven’t watched that other Harry Potter one for a while?”

“Gives Lottie nightmares. What else have you got on your laptop? That they haven’t seen?”

“Hunger games? Oldie but goodie?” 

“Serial killing teenagers? Nope. Anything else?” 

“Classic 90ies films?”

“You are a nerd.”

“So are you.” 

“That’s why I love you.”

“I have the Aladdin? The live version, with Will Smith. His abs were hot.”

“You are hot. Your abs are hotter.”

“I have no abs anymore.”

“Don’t care. Still fancy you. And you have a tight arse, want in there one of these days.”

He tenses up. All over. It’s just automatic.

“Your terms. You say when, where, what. No pressure, babe. I was just talking bullshit. Flirting. Sorry.” Matteo almost stutters, holding him tight as to apologize with his whole body. When he has nothing to apologize for.

“Okay...“  _ Here we go again _ . He’s running out of excuses. Out of ideas. Out of time. “Not now.” He says. “Get the kids inside, and we need to sort out dinner.” 

He’s talking a load of rubbish. And Matteo walks away, his shoulders hunched. Like Even’s. He pushes everyone away. It might not be intentionally, but he stands in the middle of the lawn watching everyone disappear into the distance.

Things get better, of course they do. Matteo magics up leftovers for dinner, the kids for once agree on a film and the twins fall asleep on the sofa, the soles of their feet black with dirt, and the clothes they were wearing now doubling as pyjamas. 

“Can we just let them sleep on the sofa?” Matteo whispers, standing in the dusky evening light, with that look on his face, the same that David carries. 

Love. 

He adores these girls as much as David does. Their girls. Their children. The most beautiful little creatures, the perfect mix of the two of them. David’s dark skin and Matteo’s blond streaks blended into their mediterranian looks. Perfection. 

“They are beautiful,” he says softly, letting his gaze fall on his husband. The streaks of grey in his straggly hair. The crows feet around his eyes. The smile that still makes his heart skip a beat. 

“They are ours,” Matteo replies. “Your and mine. The Florenzi Schreibner girls. Most beautiful twins in the world.”

“I know,” David says, his head jerking to the side at the sound of laughter coming from Andreas’ room. “Should we let Maria sleep in Andreas’ room?”

“Of course, her brother is sleeping there too. There is space for two in the bottom bunk and Maria can take the top.”

“So Andreas and Fredrik will share? One duvet?” 

“None of them will be having sex with anyone, babe, “ Matteo says sternly. “Have you looked at them? Because I do. Maria looks at Andreas with that kind of half disgusted look. Like, you are a dude and I kind of want to smack your face in but you make me laugh so I won’t. That’s good. She’s not in love with him. Doesn’t fancy him. Fredrik is kind of cool, and not at all interested in Andreas either. He barely looks up from his gaming thing anyway, so I think we are pretty safe to let them sleep there. And I have hidden the rest of the bread so we have something for breakfast, because if those kids eat the contents of the fridge at 3 in the morning, I will lose my shit.”

“Is that so, Dr Florenzi?” David laughs. 

“It is my professional opinion,” Matteo replies. “And if you take Lottie, I will take Lilly and we will put them to bed, like this, not even brushing their teeth, and then you and I are going to go lie in bed and have a glass of wine. I have a couple of bottles stashed in the car.” He stops, and places a kiss on David’s nose. “Wine. Bed. Nothing else. Deal?”

“Deal.” David laughs. 

He regrets the wine the next morning when they are all piled in the car heading for some godforsaken place two hours drive away. At least the kids are quiet as the 4G has kicked in and Andreas’ breathing has slowed down after almost having a panic attack over the amount of missed messages and social media interaction that had escaped him over the last couple of days. He’s tapping away furiously, holding the charging lead in place with his teeth, whilst the girls are watching something that sounds annoying as hell, seeping through their headphones. 

At least it’s just them, a chance to breathe. Nobody judging. Nobody to impress. Even and Isak are driving ahead of them in their own car, and Andreas is texting with the Norwegian kids, keeping them all on the right roads.

“Where are we going again?” he sighs, letting his hand search in the glove compartment, and then sighing with relief as he feels the familiar packet of painkillers in his hand. 

“Want one?” he says to Matteo, who strokes his cheek, then changes gear as they turn on to another main road. 

“Nah, I’m good,” Matteo smiles. “By the way, remind me to show you something when we get home, and for god’s sake remind me to put it back. I borrowed something from next door, if you could help me buy some?”

“Some what?” David says as Lottie throws up over herself in the back. 

It’s a good day. It always is here in Sweden.

The moose farm is actually fun, despite it almost taking 3 hours go get there, with the pit-stop to clean out the car and let the kids play in a lake and stopping for ice-cream. The place is basic, run by an overly jolly woman who takes the children under her wing and has them hand feeding a young moose and cutting apples for the “Safari”, which turns out to be a tractor with a converted trailer. It gives David heart palpitations and makes Maria howl with laughter as the kids take their seats on the makeshift roof, and Andreas has Lottie on his lap and Lilly is crying with fear but refuses to come down. 

Isak is stiff as a board, obviously under-impressed with the rickety transport, whilst Matteo and Even are chatting away, not the least concerned about the deathtrap of a trailer their children are currently riding. He takes a seat next to Matteo, letting his hand fall gently in his husband’s lap. His hand is getting an immediate squeeze as another family climbs on board, their children climbing onto the roof as the trailer leans heavily and the Moose woman shouts excitedly in Swedish. 

It’s fun. He has to admit it. First watching them from a distance, seeing the majestic animals walk on their long legs across a field just 50 metres away was a sight. Then the woman leaving piles of food at designated places in the forest, and the moose coming to eat it just a few minutes later. Matteo, always making a show, holding a raw potato in his hand and getting his fingers sucked by a wet moose tongue, whilst Even is scratching the giant animals behind their horns, calling them a good boy, like he is dealing with a lapdog. 

It’s fun, he has to admit it. 

The gift shop is ridiculous. The cafe over the top, but they have ice creams and the girls are having the best day playing with their overpriced stuffed moose toys and clinging to Fredrik like he is their new best friend, which in reality is because he has chewing gum and is teaching them to blow bubbles. 

“David?” Maria asks quietly as they walk towards the car. She looks pale, and has Even’s hoodie wrapped tight around her waist. 

“Yes?” he replies, stopping. She looks weird. Upset. Kind of scared, and his heart is racing. If Andreas has done anything. Has he? He has talked to him, they have talked about everything. Andreas knows. If he has fucking done something to this girl, David will kill him.

“Can... Can you help me?” She stutters, her English sounding tentative like she is trying to find the words.

“What’s wrong?” he says quietly. “Has Andreas done anything? If he has, I will bloody...”

“No, no no no.” Maria shakes her head. “I don’t...I have, you know. Blood? I have had it before, but today, it’s too much. I have blood everywhere, and I am scared.”

“Period? Monthly period?” David says quietly, taking a deep breath. This. This he can deal with. “It’s not your first one?”

“No, third. But it’s too much blood. I have marks on my trousers, I don’t want anyone to see. I haven’t got anything to change into. Is it ok? So much blood that you leak? I put a tampon in this morning, and now, it’s… everywhere.”

“Sweetheart,” David says, and smiles. He can’t help it. It’s sweet, and he remembers his first period well. The disgust with himself. The fear. The shame. Having to tell his mother when all he wanted to do was to sink into a hole and disappear.

“What’s going on?” Isak says.

“Go away, Pappa! “ Maria shouts, tears forming in her eyes.

“No, something is wrong Maria. What has happened?”

“It’s OK. Maria and I have a little secret,” David says, then stops. That sounded dodgy.

“Secret?” Isak almost shrieks. “My daughter is 14. 14. She is a child and you are a grown man. She is not supposed to have secrets with you!”

“Pappa, shut the fuck up!” Maria screams as Even and Matteo have stopped further along the road, and Andreas and Fredrik have caught up behind them.

“I’m not letting you have bloody secrets with strangers,” Isak says, almost spitting.

“He’s not a stranger, he’s the only one who knows about real things, and I need his help and can you just go away?” Maria is crying now and Isak crosses his arms. 

“Now you have upset her. David. What the hell?”

“It’s...It’s not what you think.” David stutters. Classic. Now he sounds guilty as fuck. 

“Then why are you making my daughter cry?” Isak reaches for Maria who shoves him away, wrapping her arms around herself, sobbing quietly. 

“She has, questions. I was just answering them.” David says, trying to stand up straighter. He’s done nothing wrong and Isak looks like he is about to bite his head off.

“I have my period and I’m scared and my stomach hurts and I am bleeding a lot and I just wanted to talk to someone who knows about things and not have to talk to you because you and Pappa know shit about women’s things and I just wanted a bit of privacy! Can you fucking respect that, Pappa?”

He’s kind of proud of his daughter, Isak, despite her outbursts and choice of language. David got the gist of that, the words making sense even in Norwegian. And Isak’s reply is soft, his voice calmer.

“What the hell does David know that I can’t help you with?” Isak replies. Then switches to English. “Why does she need you? What can you do that we can’t? We are her parents, David, you of all people should respect that.”

He’s being unreasonable, yet David knows. He would be shouting and screaming himself if this was Lilly or Lottie, ten years down the line. 

“Because he’s a woman, Pappa!” She shouts. Then she covers her mouth with her hands and whispers “Shit. Shit Shit. I’m so so sorry. Fuck. Fuck.” 

She’s frozen in fear as Andreas just stares at her and Fredrik’s face looks like she’s just dropped a bomb on them all. 

Isak. 

Isak says nothing.


	18. Even

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desperate teens and spilled secrets, can it be worse?

“So that was why Maria wanted to borrow my hoodie,” Even thinks. And the next second, “why did it have to be that hoodie, it’s my favourite! I don’t want blood stains on it!” 

For the second after he feels ashamed. 

He wants to comfort Maria, his little girl, the tiny baby, she is grown up. He knew she got her first period a few months ago, she had asked him for extra money to buy pads and stuff, and suggested that they could just increase her pocket money so she could get whatever she needed. He just shrugged and agreed, it didn’t really matter, they would buy it when they grocery shopped anyway, and just throw it into the bathroom cabinet together with extra tooth brushes and condoms, but of course they forgot. She seemed well informed enough about the facts, he knew she had watched pre-teen TV shows dealing with puberty for ages, they had talked about it in school, she had friends, and Sana had probably had “the talk” with both Maria and Mariam, they are at the same age. At least he hopes so. That someone has actually talked to his little girl when he hasn’t.

He always planned to do it. To be a good father that could talk to his daughter about everything, that could teach her everything she needed, that could prove that having two fathers didn’t mean she missed anything.

But then he failed. He hasn’t had time or energy to do it, all his energy has gone into doing the chores of all kinds, making sure the necessary things were dealt with, and then there was no time or mind left for being in front of things and talk with the kids about stuff that wasn’t already absolutely necessary.

He regrets it now. His baby is scared and ashamed, and it’s his fault.

In the eye hook he sees Matteo freeze. He is standing still, his face is shocked, he has stopped in the middle of his tracks. 

David is bright red. He is standing next to Maria and Isak, with a hand on her shoulder, Isak is looking furious. The boys are standing behind them. Andreas is looking confused at her, Fredrik is pale. The whole picture is frozen, maybe it is just a picture, he thinks, maybe everything has just continued except he can only see this frozen moment.

Matteo is panicking next to him. His face went pale, now his cheeks are bright red, he concerned eyes are desperately looking between the three of them, as if he doesn’t know what to do, who to take first.

Even looks between Isak and David. What the heck, grooming? What on earth was Isak talking about? Even may not know shit about what this is about, but it is not grooming, he can see that from Maria’s shocked face and the flustered look of David.

David’s face changes in a matter of seconds, cycling between shock, anger, sadness, deflated, first he froe, then, for a moment, it looked like he was about to fight, now he seems closest to flight, to where, Even doesn’t know.

Then Isak explodes.  
“Maria! What did you say?” he shouts. She startles and looks scared at him. “What did you say?” he says again, lower and calmer this time.  
“What do you mean? That you and pappa don’t know anything about women’s things?” She seems to have run out of steam, deflated. A little calmer than before.  
“No, about David. Are you calling him a woman? What the hell?”  
“But he is! He was born a girl and even if he looks like a man now he knows what it is like to be a woman! Or a girl, at least,” she adds in a lower voice.  
“No, he doesn’t,” Isak says. “He is not a woman. He has never been a woman. He was perhaps born in a woman’s body, but he has always been a man.”

Even whole body warms with pride, hearing him speak. Isak. His Isak. The bravest cleverest person he knows. 

It’s like hearing those people in the pride meeting they went to many years ago. They finally had a babysitter and decided to go to a meeting at Pride, before having a few beers afterwards. The only open meeting that night was on trans rights, and while it felt a bit awkward, it was also enlightening. Isak had looked at him several times during the meeting, as if he was proud they were actually sitting here at the totally irrelevant-to-them meeting, and Even had whispered “this is a very adult thing” back to him. 

What had struck them the most, Even remembers, were all the stories about hate for wanting to be who they truly were, how many people actually felt like they had a right to act upon their meanings about how other people felt. Neither Even nor Isak had problems accepting that people could be born in the wrong body, although Isak sighed a bit about having more boxes added to the pile of categorizations, but even if they _did_ have problems with it, it hadn’t occurred to them that they had any right to deny other people living like they wanted, or insist upon being right out impolite and calling them by their deadname or using another pronoun. It was just strange. 

“I don’t really understand heterosexual marriage,” Isak had said afterwards, when they had their second beer in a calm corner of a gay bar full of people, “but why should I decide how other people should live their lives? Their marriage doesn’t make mine less valuable. And besides,” he had added, “if it wasn’t real, why would anyone actually go through all the struggles to live their true life?”

“Do you ever wish you were straight?” Even had asked him. He had regretted once he had uttered the words, even if he found the question interesting.  
Isak hadn’t lingered for a second. “No.” He had swiped his finger along the rim of his beer glass and looked at Even again. “Now I don’t. But I did when I was younger. All those times I tried to not think about men, about boys. When I tried to kiss girls. All those nights when my brain was running in circles and I was afraid and angry and frustrated…” He had shrugged. “But then I met you, and… yeah. Never looked back.” He had put his hand over Even’s and smiled. “You didn’t think I wished for something different, did you?”

Even had known it, of course, he had known Isak loved him, he had known there was no reason to doubt it, to fear his answer. But sometimes it felt like life was balancing on a narrow edge, and when he thought about such things, it was one of those narrowing thoughts, one of those things that could start to spin and make him fall off the edge. 

He had stroked Isak’s hand with his fingers, tickling light along a vein, between his knuckles, following his fingers to the tips. “No, I didn’t,” he had said in a low voice, while studying Isak’s hand. 

Then the baby sitter had called, Maria had been crying for them for 45 minutes, did they want to come home or stay? Even had heard her wailing in the background as he rose up and motioned for Isak to follow him home.

“Look, David, I am really, really sorry. I…” He straightens up. “I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything, I don’t know why that was my gut reaction, and in any case I definitely understand now that this had nothing to do with that. And…” He looks at Maria. “And I am really sorry on behalf of Maria. She… I am sorry we haven’t taught her better.”  
“Daddy!” She looks furiously at him, before she turns to David and draws her breath. “David, I am really sorry for calling you a woman. I just… I…” Tears well from her eyes. She tries to wipe them away with her hand, but the sobs are harder to stop, and her words are hard to hear. “You are not a woman even if you have been before, but I thought you could help me.”  
“Of course I will help you, Maria.” David takes a step towards her and puts an arm around her. Then he freezes and looks at Isak. “If it’s ok with you?” he adds quickly while looking at Isak.  
Isak nods frenetically. “Of course it is, David. I… we are very grateful for your help,” he stutters. “We will help her too, of course, but if she wants to talk to you and it’s ok with you, it is absolutely ok with us.”

Then a shriek comes through and everybody are turning against it. One of the twin girls is standing next to a large tray, while the other is lying on her back in the shallow water. She is waving her hands and wailing, it looks like she can’t get hold of the slick sides of the trough to get up. 

Andreas and Fredrik are closest and run towards her. They quickly hoister her up. Andreas wrinkles his nose as he holds her. There are spots of green slime and algae on them. Apparently this was an old drinking tray, now filled with old rain water.  
“We just wanted to let the mooses drink!” the other one explains. She points at the sad, wet specimen in her sister’s hand. “But then Lilly lost it into the water bowl, and she fell into it.”

Lilly becomes aware of the wet animal in her hand. The fur is hanging in sad tufts along its body, and the horns are covered by the icky green algaes. She starts to cry again when she looks at it, first clenching the moose against her chest, then scrunching her face and holding the moose at an arm length while wailing even louder.

Of course she gets a new moose from the store. Even hides his smile, this is the only tactic working for six year olds who lose their pet in a drinking tray, replace their toys. And maybe buy them an extra toy for comfort, a plastic moose for instance. For both of them, of course, so he there won’t be world war three.

Maria is casting long glances towards the German car when they are about to enter their own. “I want to go with Andreas,” she mumbles.  
“Me too,” her brother adds.

Even shakes his head. “It only has seats for five, you know that.”

Right now a couple of extra seats in the other car would feel godsent. He silently sighs as David buckles one of the girls and shuts the door before jumping inside the car himself just before Matteo sets off.

He drives towards the main road in silence. In the rear mirror he can see the sour face of Maria in the back seat. She rolls her eyes at him when she meets his eyes. Fredrik is occupied with his phone, hunched towards the other corner with his huge headphones. 

Isak is looking through the window, resting his arm on the door while chewing on his thumb nail. The trees and the small farms with their luxuriant green fields with spots of yellow and pink and white flowers are passing outside the windows.

“I really had no idea,” he mutters. “But it makes sense now, that he gave me this bag of pads and stuff for Maria, saying it was something his sister had forgotten in his suitcase when she borrowed it.”  
“He has struggled a lot with his body,” Even says. “Being called a woman was probably the worst that could happen.”  
“I said I didn’t mean it!” Maria chimes from the back seat. “I apologized to David. It just slipped.”  
Even nods. “It sometimes does, Maria.”

She meets his eyes without an eye roll this time, just a sad look, pondering, perhaps. She looks over at Fredrik, sighing loudly when he doesn’t look up from his phone. It looks like she may nudge him, but she doesn’t, just leans back toward her window and views the rural landscape pass by outside.

“I had no idea he was not a real man,” Isak says.  
“But he is a real man!” Even protests. He looks at Isak and shrugs. “Don’t you remember the meeting we went to, at Pride, when the kids were younger?”  
“The trans one?”  
“Yes. All the stories, all the struggles, all of it just to be able to live as the person they wanted to.”  
“Mm. But it is weird to think about David as a woman.” He scrunches his nose.  
“Isak, he has never been a woman.” Even sighs. “He was born in a woman’s body, but he has always been a man. Think about yourself then! You were born as a man in a man’s body, but no matter how much you tried to live as a straight man, falling in love with women, kissing them, all of that, you were still a gay man in that man body of yours. You couldn’t change it. And no matter how much you have tried to be that straight man, you never managed to, so if people ask you how it is to be a straight man, you can’t really answer them even though you have kissed and flirted with women.”  
“But gay isn’t a body,” Isak protests weakly.  
“No, it’s not, but being born in a woman’s body doesn’t mean you are a woman inside, either. Maybe David is the adult here with most experience about women bodies, at least on a personal level, but him having had periods and giving birth to three kids still doesn’t mean he is a woman. He just has some woman parts.”

“But you knew it?” Isak wrinkles his brows and looks at Even.  
“David told me a while ago. We have talked a bit.”  
“Why didn’t you tell me?”  
“It wasn’t my thing to tell,” he says. “We talked about a lot of stuff, and I don’t break anyone’s confidence.”  
“But we’re married! You could have saved me the embarrassment, now it seems like we don’t talk!” Isak’s voice is annoyed.

Even gets what Isak is saying. Heck, he might have thought the same himself. “Isak, do you _really_ want me to break confidence like this? We are not one even if we’re married, you know.”  
Isak sighs and looks out of the windows, at the apparently endless forest along the road. “I know,” he says in a low voice. “It just feels so weird… I…. I feel excluded, you know. Like I was the very last to know. You knew, the kids knew, at least Maria.”  
“I knew it, too,” Fredrik mutters from the back seat.  
“Well, both the kids knew. I was the only one not knowing. And maybe the twins, but they may be too young anyway.”  
“They know,” Fredrik adds. “You bet they know,” he says with a low giggle.  
“You know, I kind of wish I could have told you,” Even says. “Even if it never occured to me to say anything. Because the thought of sharing something told me in confidence is just so foreign to me.”  
“I know,” Isak sighs. “I know you won’t tell. And I am really glad you don’t, I am.” He blows out air with a slight smile. “I guess it just feels worse when it’s me that doesn’t know. It’s kind of easier when it’s my secret you don’t share. Or when it’s about something that doesn’t really mind me.”  
“Yes, I know,” Even smiles. He puts his hand on Isak’s thigh. “I promise I’ll continue to keep your secrets. And anybody else’,” he says, with a glimpse at Fredrik through the rear mirror. Fredrik doesn’t even look up, his eyes are closed and he seems to be far into his music again.

“I’ll go inside,” Maria mutters as they exit the car by the farm, and Fredrik follows suit.  
“Jeez, why can’t they tidy up their rubbish in the car when they have been eating in it?” Isak sighs.  
“Just leave it for next time.”  
“It will smell. Haven’t you felt the foul smell of rancid chips and rotten meat after two days in the sun?” Isak says annoyed, and picks up half a hamburger inside it’s wrapping, then wiping his fingers on his jeans in disgust as the sour dressing drips from the greasy paper.

After they slam the car doors, Even sees David and Matteo going inside the cabin, while Andreas disappears around the corner towards the garden, probably aiming for the hammock or the hangmat he found in the shed the other day, Even thinks. 

The twins are walking the other way around the cabin, they have found their place in the small grove between the cabin and the lake. It’s like a small cave between the lush bushes and small trees, pine cones on the ground, cool grass in the shade, lots of space to imagine whatever they want to imagine. They had brought some toys there the other day, small plastic animals, cars, dinosaurs, even sheep, he giggles with a smile.

An hour later he has prepared dinner. They brought moose meatballs for all of them back from the safari park, he has made a spicy tomato sauce and fresh tagliatelle, a huge bowl of salad, smaller bowls of vegetable sticks for the twins, Lilly prefers cucumber and Lottie loves tomatoes.

He considered cancelling the common dinner, not sure if they were in the mood for it, but fuck it, he thought, Isak must face this. He sets the long patio table for the nine of them, the big vivid flowers on the cloth, clear blue plates, uneven glasses, they didn’t have enough identical glasses so he went all in with different glasses and cutlery from aunt Bella’s lavish cupboards, even found a pile of linen napkins there.

He loves the bright colours of the set table, the flowers, the blue, the green tones of the salad bowl decorated with orange flowers from the garden, the red tomato sauce, bowls of meatballs, yellow juice in a jar, a couple of flower bouquets in red and blue and orange.

“It’s dinner time!” he shouts. “Middag! Mittags!”  
Isak is coming from the living room. He stops and smiles at Even. “It looks delicious,” he says and kisses his neck. Even can’t stop his smile and kisses him softly back on his lips. “Thanks,” he says with a whisper.  
“Do you need help?” Isak asks.  
“No, I am fine. I will get the pasta from the kitchen once everyone is here,” he says, slightly frustrated at the sight of the empty table and the complete lack of people.  
“Maria! Fredrik! Dinner!” Isak peeks through the door and yells for the kids upstairs. “Now!”

Even smiles and looks toward the cabin. “Matteo! Dinner!” he says to the man peeking out of the kitchen window, at the same time as Andreas comes from the garden.  
“Thanks! We are coming!” He says something in lower voice to someone hidden behind him in the kitchen.

“Have you seen Lilly and Lottie?” David asks as he enters the patio, looking at the six others already sitting at the table with a questioning look. They have all heard his voice yelling for the kids for a few minutes before he arrived.  
Matteo freezes while he is scooping pasta from the bowl to his plate. “Weren’t they with… shit, where were they?” he asks, panic in his eyes.  
“I think they went to the garden?” David says.  
“No, they weren’t there,” Andreas says. “It was all quiet there,” he adds with a blissful look.  
“Not in our garden either.” Even shakes his head. “And not in the sandbox.” He looks at the empty sandbox at the edge of the garden, the sand still untouched after the heavy rain a couple of nights ago.

They all run out to look for the twins. Even and Isak looks in the barn, behind the infinite amounts of stuff aunt Bella has gathered there. Even makes a silent promise about cleaning up there once and for all. David is inside the cabin, looking under all the beds, pretending to play hide&seek, Matteo in the garden, Even can only imagine the stress going on in their heads.

Then Andreas, Maria and Fredrik comes rushing from the narrow path from the lake. Andreas is pale despite the run, he holds a pair of lilac shoes in his hand, his knuckles are white from the grip. “Maria found these by the lake,” Fredrik stutters as they arrive at the house.  
“On the beach.” Maria can barely breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for following us in the Swedish woods! Your comments are wonderful ❤


	19. Matteo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So the girls are missing, the dinner is ruined and all is slowly going to shit in Sweden. Or is it? Let's figure this mess out then shall we?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all your wonderful comments and jodels and tweets and messages. We love hearing from you, but we love that so many of you are reading this story and hopefully enjoying the adventures of Evakenzi.

## Matteo 

_Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Think. Think god damn it!_

He’s got training for this. He’s got no fucking clue how to handle anything. It’s like that time when they lost the Andreas at the park. When Lilly ran off in the supermarket. When David wouldn’t answer his shitty phone. _Scheisse_. 

His feet are flying along the wild grass on the verge of the lake, his eyes scanning every crevice, his voice hoarse from shouting. Maybe he should run the other way. Maybe he should be in the water, looking. Scanning the murky waters looking for… He can’t even think the words that his brain is shouting out, desperately screaming his daughters’ names. Over and over. 

He can hear David’s voice, shouting from further up in the forest. Even shouting somewhere over by the fields. Isak? His voice somewhere in the distance. Right now he doesn't care. He just wants his girls back. His daughters. His kids. HIS KIDS. 

Nobody takes his kids away. They can swim, he taught them. They had drilled them last summer, taking them to the local pool every morning where David made them do lengths and dive and practice their crawl. They were good, strong swimmers. Not perfect, but fuck, the water is too shallow…

He shudders and shouts again. “Lillyyyyy” “LOTTIEEE” “Das ist kein Spiel, das ist nicht lustig! Kinder! Papi wird wirklich wütend sein, wenn ihr euch versteckt.”

He doesn’t even sound angry, his voice panting out the words with strangled huffs, his heart bolting out of his chest. Fear. So much fucking fear. He needs this all to stop. He needs to stop the world. Fix this shit. Stop everything.

“Papiiii!!!” He can hear the crashing footfall of Andreas breaking through the undergrowth, his body moving fast through the woods behind him. And Matteo can’t breathe. For a second he can’t even move. He doesn’t want to look around. Please. Please. _Please no_.

“Even got them. They were up in the sheep pen doing some fucking stupid game.” Andreas stops heavily next to Matteo by the water’s edge, letting his hands rest against his knees. “Fucking little shits.” He pants. 

Matteo doesn’t even notice as his knees buckle, his body limp with relief as he sinks into the sand. His hands grasping his face. 

“They were just playing with those damn ugly toys they got. I’m going to burn those things, those shitty toys caused nothing but trouble today. Any shit that happened was because of the bloody shitty toys that were probably made by exploited child workers in some underprivileged country.” 

It must be the shock, because Matteo burst out laughing. 

“Did Maria tell you that?” he sputters out.

“Yeah. She’s smart, she’s told me lots of really interesting things. I’m going to boycott Nestle and Nike and loads of different unethical brands from now on, and we need to find our nearest zero packaging shop at home and start to use it.”

“Fuck off.” Matteo sighs. He feels sick. Exhausted. He’s the worst father in the world. 

“Your shorts are getting wet.” 

“You are a twat.” 

“Papi…”

“What?”

He tries to get up, stumbles and is grateful for Andreas arm that pulls him up and steadies him as he flicks his fringe out of his hair. He needs a haircut. He needs a hug. He needs to get a grip. 

“Do you need a hug?” his son says. 

Matteo doesn’t reply, just scoops the ridiculous boy up in his arms and squeezes him. Hard. Breathes in his hair. Kisses the sweaty skin on his cheek. Tugs at the unruly mop of hair on his head and laughs softly at his sons obvious embarrassment. 

“You like Maria, don’t you?” he says, relieved that his voice sounds light, even though his heart is still trying to recover from the near heart attack inducing trauma of….fuck. Dinner. They were just about to have dinner. 

“She’s cool, and very pretty, but Papi, chill. I am not crushing on her. I’ve got a type, and she’s not it. OK?”

“What’s your type?” Matteo laughs, grabbing another hug, whilst he can. Having a moment. Letting himself breathe. In. Out. 

“Not telling you, because you would just use it and abuse that information to your advantage and give me a load of shit.”

“I wouldn't. I would totally respect the privilege of knowing that information.” Matteo smiles, trying to look serious, whilst Andreas punches him gently in the chest.

“Bullshit.” Andreas laughs, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “You have a thing for dark haired dudes, I mean you only had two major crushes in your life, Uncle Jonas and Vati.”

“And Will Smith.”

“And Will Smith. Embarrassing dude. He’s like a hundred years old.”

“He was hot when he was younger.”

“You have no taste.”

“I have great taste. Look at Vati. I mean? He’s like the most handsome dude in the world. Then you have me, and you got all my good genes.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty much fucked in the looks department. “ 

“Don’t say things like that. You are handsome as hell. Trust me. I’m gay, and I know my shit. All the dudes and girls swoon over you. You are totally handsome.” 

“Now this is becoming an embarrassing conversation.” Andreas crosses his arms and Matteo holds his up in defeat. Yeah. He’s that Dad. The embarrassment is real. He knows when to tease and when to back off, and now? He’s backing off with his hands in the air, his shorts soaking wet and his shoes covered in sand. He might have to dump them, as they are soaking wet too, his feet sloshing helplessly inside them alongside sand and mud and water.

“Shall we go home?” he says weakly.

“Yeah,” Andreas smirks. “Even was so angry, I have never heard him shout before, but he shouted at Lottie and Lilly and made Lilly cry. He even said German words, shouting random words like _beängstigend!_ , and shit, telling them never to hide when people are shouting and looking for them. I don’t think the girls were hiding, they were just having fun playing with the sheep.”

“He was probably as scared as we were,” Matteo says and sighs. He needs David. He needs his girls. He needs to eat. He needs a crate of beer. And a coffee. 

They find everyone on the patio, the girls looking sullen and whilst Lottie runs up and hugs him Lilly is firmly curled into David’s lap and refuses to even look at him. 

“You must never, ever go to the lake on your own. You know that? Don’t you?” He scolds whilst Lottie squirms in his grip and Even looks flustered and Isak comes in carrying a large bowl of pasta. 

“I microwaved it,” he says and places the bowl on the table. 

“You killed it,” Even says, in obvious distress.

“Never reheat pasta,” Matteo’s mouth says before he can stop himself.

“Don’t you start too,” Isak warns, looking furious. 

“Sit the fuck down,” David roars, far too loud. Then blushes and almost whispers “Sorry.”

“OK.” Matteo decides to reign it in. He has training in this. Trauma training. Crowd control. Emergency psychology. He’s on the hospital Catastrophic Emergency Event team, for fuck’s sake. 

“Isak. Sit down,” he pleads, and pushes Andreas down on a chair next to Fredrik who already is loading his plate with congealed pasta. “Lets just talk about this for a second. This was nobody’s fault. The girls ran off playing and we should have kept an eye on them. Nobody’s fault but mine really, because I got distracted.”

“Distracted?” Andreas smile is pure evil. 

“Yeah, I was getting it on with your Vati? OK?” Matteo almost shrieks and then wants to sink through the floor with the embarrassment of it all whilst David is quite blatantly laughing at him.

“Can I say something?” David says and shuffles his seat closer to the table with Lilly still on his lap.

The table is quiet, as Isak sinks down on his seat with his shoulders hunched and Even is breathing loudly. In. Out. 

“I have spent my whole life trying to hide stuff, and it’s taken me up until now to figure out that not being truthful with who you are always ends up coming back and slapping you in the face when you least expect it.”

The table is quiet. Not a word being said. 

“The job I am in now, I hate it, but, I have told everyone I work with who I am. What I am. And I really don’t care what they think. A few of my clients have told me that they feel safe with me, because of who I am. Others are standoffish and I can tell they are uncomfortable, but that is fine. I am honest. I don’t hide and I don’t lie. I think that is what I have to do, to keep sane. And I should have done the same when we arrived here, I should probably have told you guys so you knew me. Knew what I am and who we are as a family, because I make people uncomfortable when they find out, and I’m sorry that you didn’t know, Isak. That was on me. I didn’t realize that Maria knew either and I should have given her a chance to ask questions rather than for her feeling that she needed to be careful about talking to me.”

“I knew from the start. We talked about it in the car when we went shopping that day.” Maria says, looking defiant. 

“My fault,” Matteo says, his eyes a little steamed up. He loves David. So so much. “We talked about Pride and your Trans Dad Hugs t-shirt. It was a good discussion, and it didn’t even cross my mind that, fuck. Yeah. It was wrong. Sorry, babe.”

“No, no, no, that’s great. I’m really happy that you and Fredrik knew, and please know you can ask me any question you like, because trust me, people have asked me weird questions all my life, and I can take it. I’d rather you asked me, and then I can explain. And Maria, if you want to talk to me privately, you are always welcome to come and talk. There are lots of things I don’t know, but if it’s anything more serious Matteo is a gynecological surgeon, and whatever he doesn’t know, well, he’s the expert.”

“Good to know.” Maria says flatly, but she’s smiling under her hair, looking kind of pleased with herself. Whilst Fredrik is eating in silence and Andreas is staring at David with that look of “omg my parents are so weird”.

“I’m really, really happy we met you,” Even says. “This has been the most interesting summer holiday ever so far. Traumatic, but. Interesting. I like it. Now? Let’s eat before Isak faints from hunger.”

“Isak is no fun when his blood sugar is low. He gets really hangry.” Fredrik is talking with his mouth full of food.

“Hangry?” David says, smiling. Meeting Matteo’s eye and Matteo’s chest warms again. Lottie is on his lap, her body limp against his chest. She’ll fall asleep at this rate, but she really needs to eat. Not that it matters. She’s safe. Here. On his lap. 

“Yeah, when you get angry and hungry because you are starving and it’s called hangry.” Fredrik shrugs his shoulders. 

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” Isak laughs and shakes his head. “Sorry about the pasta, it’s like this big congealed lump of food now.” He hacks away at the food in the bowl with the serving spoon, letting a lump of it land on his plate.

“If I could, I would have treated you all to McDonalds,” Even sighs.

“But you can’t because we are stuck in this wasteland in the middle of nowhere with no decent fast food anywhere,” Fredrik says, taking a gulp of water out of his glass.

“At least we are all here together,” Matteo says softly as Isak gets up and leaves the room.

Even’s head falls into his hands as the room fills with silence.

“Sorry,” David sighs.

Isak comes back through the door, letting four cold beers land heavily on the table, as he fishes an opener out of his pocket and skillfully flips the caps off. 

“Here,” he says, reaching across to place a beer into David’s hand. Another one to Matteo. One to Even with a kiss pressed to his forehead. “We all need to just take this chill. A toast. To friends. Family, and fucking drama.”

It’s lovely, the laugh that spills out of David’s mouth as his beer clinks against Isak’s. “To fucking drama.” 

“Dude? Are you wearing my underpants?” Isak is looking at the red edge above David’s shorts. Whilst everyone else stares at Isak. And David. 

Drama. This day just needs to fucking end.


	20. Isak

Isak frowns at David. “Eh, I mean, I have a similar boxer, but I couldn’t find it the other day, but… sorry, I am sorry, of course I am not accusing you of using my boxer, that’s silly of me. It’s a nice boxer!”

He feels everybody staring at him. Even is giving him that eye, David is looking between Isak and Matteo, and Matteo’s face is dark red.

“I am sorry, it must have fallen into my basket when I borrowed the washing machine the other day,” Matteo stutters.  
“When did you borrow the washing machine? You were so happy we had our own, so we didn’t have to go somewhere else to do laundry, like we didn’t when we were in Prague the other year and had to use that dirty laundromat, with all the crud dustpuppies, do you remember?” David scrunches his nose.  
“I… I borrowed it the other day. Because… because we were out of detergent.”  
“Out of detergent? But you have bought six bottles of detergent just because you wondered how Swedish detergent smells! How could we be out of it?”  
“I forgot it,” he says, sounding slightly frustrating and looking at David as if he wants him to just shut up.  
“Yeah yeah, whatever. Maybe it’s not even mine, Even has probably left it in the washing machine, he leaves laundry there all the time, so it always smells.”  
“It doesn’t,” Even protests. “And anyway I haven’t done laundry for a long time now.”  
“No, I bet you haven’t.”

“Isak, shut up. Have some more beer, relax.” Even hands him another beer, a craft beer from a semi-local brewery this time, Isak likes them, even if he prefers the cans of lager they get at the village supermarket.

They have a few more beers. Andreas, Maria and Fredrik sneak away with the twins and a promise about putting them to bed, the girls shrieks from delight when they understand Maria will come with them. 

The adults continue drinking. They only have a few beers, they are not totally irresponsible, but even four beers is enough for Isak to feel a bit more than relaxed and lightheaded. Even and Matteo starts comparing student songs, David is laughing and Isak is just watching them.

He looks at David and tries to get a glimpse of his midriff again, but he is sitting and it’s hard to see without staring. In the end he can’t resist, but has to ask him. “Is it really my boxer you are wearing?”

The blush is spreading across David’s face, and he grabs the elastics of his underwear before looking down at them. “Uhm, well, I wish I could say no, but….”  
Isak laughs. “Seriously?” he asks.  
“Eh, yeah, Matteo wanted to show them to me and then it was dinner and I panicked and just picked a pair in the kitchen and…”  
“Show them to you?” Isak looks at him. He has heard a lot of stories about weird Germans, how they perceived nudity as natural at quite a different level from Scandinavians. Maybe looking at other people’s underwear was another kink he didn’t know.

David blushes and looks at Matteo before lowering his voice. “He liked them, and was afraid he couldn’t explain properly to me what they were like. He wears all those sloppy wide shorts that don’t hug anything.”  
Isak throws his head back laughing. “So you are sharing underwear,” he laughs, knowing too well the convenience of that.  
“Uhm… kind of. Sometimes. I have some…” He blushes again, before he draws his breath. “Some special boxers, with room for, you know…” His hand forms a bulge in front of his crotch. Isak frowns. “But… you…” He waves questioning at the visible front lumb.  
“Fake. Packer.” David says.  
“Ah. Makes sense.” 

It kind of does. He smiles at an odd and old memory from his childhood, he stuffed a sock into his boxers when Jonas had begun that part of puberty before him, and was almost busted when they went swimming in a waterfall. He just remembered to remove it before he jumped into the water, but was nearly caught when Jonas made sure they had remembered all clothes and garbage, and held up his sole sock, one of the weird socks he got from him for his birthday, he remembers, a green one with pizza slices. Of course Jonas recognized it, but Isak said he must have forgotten it in his bag.

“What is it?” David frowns at him and takes a sip of his beer.  
“No, nothing. I just remembered I used to put a sock in my boxers before I, you know, grew up.” Isak giggles.  
“No need for that now, huh,” David nods towards him. Isak blushes and chokes on the beer he just opened.  
“Sorry,” David laughs, it looks like he suddenly can’t stop laughing as he pats Isak on his back.

They kind of drink too much, all of them. It’s not that they are drunk, because they are not, but slightly intoxicated. Chilling, relaxing, a bit beyond the comfortable feeling of a couple of beers, but far from being out of control. Still, as Isak sees Fredrik at the door, it occurs to him that they are four loud men in here now, and for a second he feels the fear in his stomach, what if Fredrik comes here because he needs help, can any of them do that now?

He looks at them from the patio door, his expression unimpressed.  
“Hi Fredrik! Everything fine?” Isak gets up from the table and takes a step towards him.  
“We need food. The girls ate all the bread before we put them to bed, not that there was a lot of it, and now we are hungry.”  
Isak smiles and waves towards the fridge. “Just take whatever you want,” he sniffles, letting the back of his hand rub his nose. “And there is pizza in the freezer and I can find some chocolate from my stash as well.” He has hidden some extras from the others, knowing far too well that Even can have cravings and the kids can be hungry for whatever sometimes. And himself, too. Cravings and hunger. Or hanger.

He looks at his son. He shrugs and blows the air between his lips, as if he needs to sharpen before entering the kitchen to get the food. Isak straightens and walks over to Fredrik and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, Fredrik. Is everything ok?” He draws his breath. “Does it bother you that we drink? Do you want us to stop? You know we would do that, don’t you? You know that?” He tries to look straight at Fredrik.

“Huh? No. No. No, it’s not that. That’s no problem, really no problem, pappa. Just drink as much as you want. Or maybe stop before you get sick, ok, because that will really stink, like it did when Thomas puked in your car when you picked us up from that party this spring.”

Isak shrugs. “Ugh, no, won’t do that.” He looks at Fredrik. “But you didn’t drink then, did you?”  
Fredrik rolls his eyes. “I already told you, dad, neither I nor Maria drank at that party. You promised me new headphones if I didn’t.”  
“Yes, and you got them,” Isak says.  
“Yes.” Fredrik straightens a bit, Isak thinks. “I wouldn’t want to spend my own money on them just because I wanted to drink. I’d rather save that for another occasion,” he says with a smirk.  
“I do understand that,” Isak says dryly. “I bet you wouldn’t have bought the most expensive one if it was your own money.”  
“It wasn’t the most expensive ones,” Fredrik protests. “They were like five times as expensive.”  
Isak rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” He did have some extra money stashed at another account, so they were able to cover the expense. And hopefully the washing machine doesn’t break for a while.  
“It got too expensive for you, did it?” Fredrik laughs.  
“No, no problem, Fredrik, really. I promised you new headphones if you didn’t drink. I keep my promises.” He looks towards the fridge, not sure what food they actually have. “Do you find anything you fancy in there?” he nods.  
“Huh? Oh yeah, no problem,” Fredrik says. For a second Isak thinks he looks sad.  
“But is anything wrong, Fredrik?” he asks with a serious expression.

Fredrik shrugs and shakes his head. “No…”  
Isak just waits. “Is it Maria?” he asks. “And Andreas.”  
Fredrik tenses, then relaxes again. “She just hangs out with Andreas all the time,” he mutters.  
“You are two individuals, she must be allowed to have her own friends,” Isak tries.  
“Yes, but there is nobody else here.”  
“That’s a good point,” Isak nods. “Have you spoken to her about it?”  
Fredrik shakes his head.

“But you used to be so close, Fredrik,” he says with a soft voice and puts his arm on his son’s shoulder.  
Fredrik shudders the hand away. “We are not now,” he says. There is a soreness in his sour voice.  
Isak rubs his chin and pauses for a few seconds. “Yeah. But it’s gonna be ok. She is always gonna be there for you. Maybe you should hang out a bit during summer?”  
“She is always hanging with Andreas. It’s Andreas this and Andreas that.”  
“They have this effect on us, this Schreibner family, don’t they?” Isak mutters.  
“What?” Fredrik looks at him.  
“No, nothing. But what about a camping trip?” Isak suggests. “I know there is an old tent in the barn, it didn’t really look antique either, and we have sleeping bags and mats. The three of you could go camping in the forest. Bring fishing rods, make a campfire, talk all night, eat chocolates and Haribo and crisps…” He smiles slightly as he looks into the distance. “Wouldn’t that be cool?” he says eagerly.  
“Maybe,” Fredrik mutters. With a sigh he grabs a bag from the hook by the washing machine and starts filling it with food. Cheese, pickles, the bowl with leftovers from dinner.  
“Make sure you heat it throughout,” Isak says almost automatically and watches Fredrik roll his eyes while adding the fresh bread from the counter as well as an almost full jar of Nutella. “We’re shopping tomorrow, aren’t we?” he asks.  
“Sure,” Isak shrugs. Probably. If they are out of food.  
“And we need to get stuff for the camping trip, too. Snacks and drinks and hotdogs and stuff.”  
Isak smiles. “Yup. And more mosquito repellant,” he says while scratching his arm. “Suckers,” he mutters.

***

It’s unusually quiet when Isak wakes up Tuesday morning. He is alone in bed. The pillow on Even’s side still has his headmark and the sheet is crumbled. It still has a faint smell of apples, mixed with body odours, a hint of white spirit and the distinct smell of alcohol lingering in the room, maybe from his own body, he thinks.

The sun is bright through the window when he walks downstairs into the kitchen. He gulps down a couple of glasses of tap water and immediately feels better. Luckily the kitchen is clean. Some glasses are lined along the sink, a bag with empty cans and bottles hang at the usual hook by the shopping bag, and fresh air streams in through the open door to the patio. He walks outside and squints against the intense light.

There is nobody outside, and he can’t see anyone in the garden or outside the cabin either. He hears several voices from the lake, though, splashing and shouting and laughter.

After a couple of espressos, cinnamon buns from the freezer via the micro, and a change into his swim shorts, he walks down the winding path through the forest. The sounds become louder as he gets closer and soon he can see them. All of them seem to be in the water throwing a ball between them, all the kids and the three grown men. Even is laughing and throwing a hard ball just in front of Andreas, who tries to protect himself from the splash.  
“Water polo! Come and join, Isak!” he shouts towards the beach.  
Isak walks slowly into the lake. The water is warm, the sun has been heating the clear water all morning, with the dark sand at the bottom it soon gets to a comfortable temperature. 

The water is cooling against his body. It’s not that he is hung-over, because he is not, he isn’t, but the smooth chill against the skin is nice. He dives down and swims a few strokes underwater, seeing the light rays coming through the surface, glittering and shining. It’s like its own world here, almost quiet, dim light, no disturbances.

“Eyyy!”  
He splutters. Suddenly a shadow came behind him and pair of arms grabbed him and threw him up above the surface. Even is giggling as he kisses his forehead. “Sorry, couldn’t resist.” He holds him tight around the arms and chest, a caring hold from a distance, but Isak knows it is because he fears Isaks revenge.  
“You cheated,” he yells at him, laughing,  
“Did not,” Even chuckles, straining him as Isak fights to get his arms loose. 

Isak relaxes against his body and slides his hands along Even’s hips under the water. He rests his head at his shoulder and makes small kisses at his neck. “You were gone this morning,” he whispers in his ear.  
“Sorry, you weren’t worried, were you?”  
Isak shakes his head. “No. I just missed you,” he says, pushing his hips gently against Even.  
“Horny hunk,” Even giggles and steals a kiss.

He loosens his arms, and Isak lets his hands slide up along Even’s chest, landing on his shoulders. Even places his arms on Isaks hips, sliding them behind to rest on his buttocks.  
“Mm…” Isak tastes Even’s lips, his mouth tastes of toothpaste and coffee, a fresh morning breath. 

Suddenly he kicks off and lifts his body so he can push Even’s shoulders down, pulling them both under water while keeping their lips locked. Even tenses under him and for a moment he feels like panicking, the spontaneous reaction of anyone, then he relaxes and follows his movements through the water, gliding down close to each other, their eyes open, the small bubbles bursting into glitter as they sink down, the wet kiss, cold water, he is trying not to swallow, but it’s impossible, and he thinks about the infamous droplet in his throat that Even is always mentioning, and once more he has to urge up for air. 

Even floats up a couple of metres off, laughing loudly while pointing at Isak. “You swallowed a drop of water?” he says with a smirk.

Isak is about to dive down and maybe, he is not sure, pull him under, or pull off his swim shorts or something, when the ball hits him hard in the head. “Auuuuch!”  
He turns around and sees Fredrik sniggering while the others are laughing. “Come on, no more smooching, we were in the middle of a water polo game her!”

Isak grunts and grabs the ball, throwing it with full force at Even. Soon they are both caught up with the game, Isak isn’t quite sure what the teams are like, if it’s Germany against Norway or adults against teens, or maybe it’s all against all, but he engages at full speed and is soon tackling David to get the ball he is crunching against his chest. Isak puts his arms around him with his hands against his chest. Suddenly he feels David tense beneath him, his shoulders stiffening and his hands grabbing for Isak’s hands as if he wants to pull them away.

Then he relaxes and laughs, holding on to the ball while turning around to push Isak away with more force before throwing the ball to Matteo. David laughs at Isak, cheering with his arms up in the air, and Isak can’t do anything but laugh with him.

“Shit, I am cold,” Isak shivers not long after. “Did any of you early birds bring coffee to heat on or do I have to go get some?”  
“We have,” Even assures him, as they wade towards the shore. “Breakfast as well,” he adds.  
“Love you, bby,” Isak smiles as Even hands him a steaming mug of coffee and a roll with cheese and cured ham. “This is the last cheese we have, we need to go shopping today.”  
“Yeah, I think Fredrik had a raid at the fridge yesterday night,” he says while looking at his son.  
“By your order, dad,” Fredrik sighs. “Have you found the tent yet? And the other camping gear?”  
“No, but it’s in the barn, just to the left of the door, I put it in some old shelves there. Didn’t look mouse eaten or anything like that. The barn is dry and nice.”  
“Tent? Camping?” Even raises a brow at him.  
“I told Fredrik they could go camping, there is some gear in the barn,” he explains.

“Camping? Here?” Matteo looks around. “Is it safe?”  
“Yeah, what could possibly go wrong?” Isak laughs. “They can follow the path around the lake, or simply the gravel drive towards the main road, there are several nice spots in that direction, too, not too far from the road.”  
“And there is mobile coverage,” Even adds. “Just no data.”  
“It should be safe enough, shouldn’t it?” David asks. “There are no wild animals here?”  
“Well, no dangerous ones, at least,” Isak assures. “I mean, there are mice. Lemmings. And moose, of course. But there will be three of them. And I bet they won’t be able to be quiet, so there is virtually no chance they will even see a mouse at their volume.”  
“But you’ll all bring mobiles and extra batteries,” David says.  
“And first aid kit, I will give you a walkthrough, Andreas, and extra food and drinkwater, and no open fire!”  
“Noo! We need a camp fire!” Andreas complains.  
“It will keep the mosquitos away, too,” Isak adds.  
“Look, fires are dangerous, you have no idea how bad they can burn themselves, I worked at the emergency room as a student, and we had this kid…”  
“Ach, enough, Matteo,” David interrupts, with a glance at a pale Even. “What if you walk along the lake and make a fire at the shore, then there is a short way for water both for cooling wounds and for quenching the flames. And you have to bring your phones, kids.”

“Vati, Vati, why is there a playhouse at the beach? Can we play in it?” One of the twins, the one with the longest hair, comes running. She is pointing at the sauna on the beach.  
Isak smiles at her. “That’s a sauna,” he explains. “It’s for adults.”  
“An adult playhouse?” She frowns at him. “But you never play, Vati,” she says with an accusing glance at her father.  
Isak smirks and chuckles low. “Well, kind of an adult playhouse.”  
“Playhouse? Sauna? Like a... sauna-sauna?” Matteo asks with a sceptical look at the shed.  
“What’s a sauna-sauna?” Maria asks.  
Isak blushes. “Eh, it’s just a normal sauna,” he says. They have never used this one, but the kids have come with them to the saunas at the swimming pool. “Like, a Finnish sauna,” he explains. “You heat it, there is a small oven inside it, and loads of dry wood there, he points at the wood pile along the wall. “And then you sit inside and… sweat.”  
“Ah, yes,” David nods, before looking at his daughter. “It’s kind of an adult playhouse,” he says with a smirk.  
“It’s dangerous for kids,” Even shoots in.  
“Daddy! It’s not!” Maria says with an eye roll.  
“The oven is warm and the temperature inside easily reaches like 100C,” Even says. He looks firmly at Maria. “You know you cannot use it alone,” he says.  
“Jeeez.”  
“A hundred degrees? _Wirt man gekocht?_ ” the other small girl asks.  
“Well, if you are locked inside and keep heating it, then yes,” Even says dryly. “But usually you stop before it’s too uncomfortable, and either keeps the temperature down or just leaves the sauna when it’s too warm. It depends on why you are using it,” he says with a raised brow.

***

Isak volunteers to go to the town for shopping, in the end all of them go because everyone is jealous of civilization and network. _“We should do something about the broadband situation,”_ Isak thinks. _“After all it’s not 2020 anymore.”_

They get plenty of food, hotdogs and meatballs for the campers, Andreas has apparently given up his vegetarian lifestyle completely for now. They throw in several bars of chocolates, bags of potato chips, three large bottles of soda and rolls of cookies. Isak tries to limit them, saying something about maybe they should bring some healthy stuff. Matteo just refuses to have anything to do with the shopping, and Even and David laughs at them all and find some packets of Swedish lingonberry and cloudberry cookies for them to try. Even may have thrown some of it into their own cart as well. And a pink bag of pads from the hygiene department. 

Maria rolls her eyes when Even asks her “are these pads is the right brand?” Loud. Across the freezer aisles for half the customers in the store to hear the question. Luckily there aren’t many of them here right now.

Afterwards they all go to the cafe. The girl behind the counter almost looks scared when all nine of them enters, but looks a bit calmer as she recognizes some of them. Isak smiles at her. “We’ll have a lot of coffee and whatever cakes you have today, please.” They indulge in cream cake and chocolate cake, the twins get their beloved cinnamon buns, bathing in melted butter and sticky sugar, and David gets the last piece of carrot cake, with all the remaining cream he could scrape from the serving plate. 

“Pappa, can we go home? We wanna go camping soon, before it’s dark.” Maria looks pleading at him.  
“Dark? That would be like at 22 tonight. It’s only 16:00 yet.”  
“But we need to pack!”  
“Pack? You are staying for one night, what do you need to pack?”  
“Pappa! Of course we need to pack.” Now it’s Fredrik’s turn to roll his eyes, and Isak has to bite his lip to stop himself from saying anything about learning from Maria. “Ok ok, we can go.”

Back at the cabin the kids pack their bags. Isak and Even are relaxing outside with a beer, talking about how the kids have grown.  
“It’s not the first time they sleep away, you know,” Even smiles.  
“No, but they haven’t gone camping on their own before.” Isak feels proud when he thinks about it. Their babies have grown so big, now they are planning and doing their own camping trip.  
Even looks at him and smiles. “How long were you when you went camping alone for the first time? With Jonas?”  
Isak thinks for a minute. “Not sure, maybe 12?”  
“Maria and Fredrik are 14. Andreas is almost 15.”  
“Mhm.” He smiles. “I guess things are a bit different now. We are more afraid.”  
“Even more afraid than our parents’ generation were, I think. Do you remember they were called helicopter parents? We are probably worse. We are like fortress parents.”  
“Well, I somehow doubt my parents would be considered helicopter parents,” Isak says dryly. “If Jonas’ parents weren’t so worried and I wasn’t so scared of the dark, I guess I would have gone camping alone much earlier.”

Even’s hand is soft and warm on his own. He strokes his thumb in circles around the back of the hand and his pinky fingers sliding across the knuckles before he lets all his fingers slide between Isak’s.

Isak studies their entwined fingers. “You know, I think they cared. They just weren’t able to act upon it,” he says. “My mum was in bed for long periods, my father was busy building the facade, and having to take care of the son he thought everybody expected his stay-at-home wife to take care of was not high on his list.” He looks at Even. “I think they should have asked for help, Even,” he says, barely able to get the words out, the bump in his chest takes too much space.  
“Yes, they probably should,” Even answers slowly. He scrunches his face. “You know, Isak. Sometimes it feels like everything is just bad and sad and difficult, the horizon is so close, all you can see is what is just in front of you. And that feels overwhelming sometimes. Overwhelming and scary. And then it may seem almost impossible to tackle it, and nothing helps, and it feels like what’s just in front of you will destroy everything and everybody around, like a black hole would, I think.”  
Isak nods. The black hole is actually an accurate description. He opens his mouth to answer when Even continues. “But it’s usually only for a short period, when it lightens the burden also feels lighter, and then nobody really remembers it or are scarred from it. The kids are strong, Isak. They understand much more than you did as a kid, than I did. And we understand more, we can be strong when we can.”

The tears sting in his eyes, and he closes them when he feels Even’s hand on his face, leans into the safety against his cheek.

Maria and Fredrik suddenly come stumbling down the stairs. Their bags are dragging heavily along behind them. Isak quickly wipes the tears from his eyes and looks at them. “What the heck have you packed?” he asks with a smile.  
“Stuff,” they mutters. “Clothes and sleeping bags and…”  
“We don’t really have room for the food, though,” Fredrik says from in front of the fridge. He is taking their food out of the fridge, lining it up on the counter instead. It looks like several bags. “Wow, how long are you planning to stay anyway?” Even giggles.  
“Shut up,” Fredrik mutters with a sigh. He starts putting everything in bags, after a while it seems to dawn to him that they have to carry all of this in addition to the bags. “Maria, we will never be able to carry this.”  
Maria shoots him a sharp glance and continues to pack.  
“Hey, don’t smash my potato chips!” Fredrik runs towards Maria, as she is dumping his soda bottles on top of the chips bags.  
“They take less space then,” she says weakly.  
“Daddy, do we have more potato chips? I don’t want these!”  
“Have a look in the cupboard next to the fridge. Top shelf, by the wall,” Isak says on automatic. Even giggles and winks at him. Isak starts. “Shit, you were not meant to know that! Fuck. Now I need to find a new stash.”  
“Great, pappa!” Fredrik shouts from the kitchen. “I take some of the crisps here. And chocolate, there is a lot of chocolate here, mind if I take a few bars?” Isak rolls his eyes in frustration as he hears the tell tale crinkling of the wrappers and bags as Fredrik digs through them.

“Maria, wait a second,” he says as she gets up, probably to have a look at the treasure shelf. She looks questioningly at him.  
“Uhm, Maria. When you are camping with the boys… eh… this is kind of awkward, I know you are going with your brother and Andreas, so, well, if you and Andreas, well… hook up.” Isak blushes. He has never been so specific to Maria, there has never been a name involved before. She is about to open her mouth when he stops her. “No wait, please. So, if you and Andreas end up shagging, I mean, having sex, please make sure you use condoms. I guess you don’t need lube, but in case you do there are some sachets of that here as well. And condoms. Do you know how to roll them on? Because that’s a bit hard the first time, but you can practice on a dil… on a banana. Or a cucumber. A small cucumber, or it can be a bit intimidating. Scary.” 

He is babbling. Maria looks startled at him, here eyes wide in something resembling shock. He shoves the ziplock bag he prepared earlier today at her. He filled it with condoms, way more than she will need, he realized, but better safe than sorry, he remembers having to rush out to buy more when he was younger. And lube, a bunch of small sachets he found in Even’s bag, he replaced them with a small tube of lube so Even can stay prepared if he wants to.

She just looks at him. Does not reach out for it at all, just looks. It’s shock. Definitely shock.  
“Pappa!” she shouts. “You… you… moron!” She walks furiously towards the kitchen. By the door she stops in her tracks and turns to him. “I have my own, pappa. And I am NOT having sex with Andreas.” She rests her hands at her midriff looking at him with stern eyes. “But have you talked to Fredrik? Maybe HE is the one needing these?”

Isak feels the chill along his spine. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckety fuck. He hates Even. He said it wasn’t necessary to talk to Fredrik. Not now. He said he didn’t need condoms. But now there is no way Fredrik will go camping without condoms. No way either of them are, he decides. “Maria, take these condoms. Stash them in your bag. If any of you need them at any time, just use them. I won’t ask. I won’t count them. I haven’t counted them. Not any of the 10 lube sachets in there either... Fuck.”  
“Pappa!” She grabs the bag between two fingertips and marches into the kitchen.

***

“So. They left.”  
"Yes. We're alone. Again," he says with a wink.

They are relaxing on the patio. It’s a warm night, just a light cooling wind, the sun is low above the lake. Some early jazz music is playing in the background, the old vinyl discs give a vibe to the summer nights. The mosquitoes are buzzing around, not fooled by the tricks they have tried. Mosquito candles. The small CO2 emissor the salesman at the sports outlet guaranteed would repel them. Even squished one on his bare leg. He frowns at the blood stain on his hand. “Too late,” he mutters.

The kids left a couple of hours ago. They agreed to follow the path by the beach along the lake, it’s wide and safe and impossible to fall into the lake from, Even says, he tries to calm Isak. The kids apparently replaced half their clothes with food and sweets, and decided to swap the tent between them. Their luggage is ridiculous for a camping trip, but it’s all they’ve got. They have proper backpacks in Oslo, but not here, and Isak declined buying new stuff. More new stuff, because god knows they bought enough today anyway. 

“This is a nice place,” he says, looking at Even.  
Even nods ad looks at the green wall. “Very green.”  
“Don’t you complain about that, that’s definitely on you.”  
“I can repaint it. What about yellow? Or blue. Or red again?”  
“No, you can’t.” Isak squints at him. “Maybe I should throw away the paint and the brushes. And confiscate your car keys so you can’t buy more paint on your own.”  
Even pouts at him and takes a sip of his beer. “I will hitch, then,” he smiles.  
“Then I will lock you inside,” Isak winks.  
Even’s hand is warm against his arm as he bumps into him.  
“Apropos.” Isak pauses.  
“Apropos locking me inside?” Even looks at him with a fake shocked expression.  
“No. Idiot. I was thinking. Maybe we should clean out the barn a bit. It’s full of stuff, we could rent a skip and empty it.”  
“Empty it?”  
“There are loads of crap there, Even. Broken furniture, garbage bags, old materials. It's full of trash.”  
“I have been there. I know what’s in there. Paintings, antique furniture. Books, her diaries. Letters.” His voice is stiff.

Ok. Isak sighs and lets out a breath. They may not be on the same side here.

“It’s just so much,” Isak says in a low voice. “The house in Oslo and this large farm, so many houses to maintain, paint, repair. And we can let it, but that’s a lot of hassle, too. And...” He draws his breath again. “You kind of have been worse recently, the summers haven’t been the good season, and I am also tired. I am just afraid it’s too much for us, Even!”  
“What do you mean? Cleaning the barn won’t really help with that?”

Fuck. His mouth has been a step ahead of his brain again. He swallows.  
“Maybe we could sell it,” he says in a low voice.  
“What?”  
“We could sell it. Get rid of the work and the mess, invest the money in something else, I don’t know, renovate the house in Oslo. Buy a modern, smaller cabin closer to home, one we can use at the weekends.”

Even doesn’t say anything. He stares into the distance. His jaws are tight, Isak knows the expression and regrets saying anything at all.

Then Even turns to him. His eyes are wet, he is blinking as if trying not to start crying. “Do you have any idea what this farm means to me?”  
Isak shrugs. “Not really,” he says, looking curiously at Even. “Tell me?” he says with a soft voice.

“It’s the first time someone has given me something like this, just out of the blue. It’s like a treasure for me, a precious unshaped diamond. And I have… or had… so many plans for this place.” He looks around. “I wanted to refurbish it. Rent it out more. Spent time here. Maybe make a film studio, the barn could be rebuilt as an indoor location for movie shooting with equipment and power and machinery. Or a music studio, lots of artists want to work in peace and solitude, and god knows this place gives you that.” He throws out a hand. “And I would also like to keep the farm as an open place, in the spirit of Bella,” he adds. “But everything is so much harder than I imagined.”

Isak just looks at him. “But you didn’t tell me anything about it,” he says.

“No, I wanted to make the plans properly first. For once I wanted to come to you with a real plan, not just throw a bunch of ideas at you without really knowing if they are possible.”

He sounds so small when he says it, as if he completely failed.

Isak sighs. “Sorry, Even. I wish I could say this was a brilliant idea and that I fully support you. But I need to think a bit first. It… it’s not as simple as saying ‘we’ll make it’, you know. I agree it feels so overwhelming, I need to sleep on it.” He gets up and walks inside. “Come to bed soon, then,” he adds, trying to make his voice softer this time.

Even is still sitting in the same position when Isak looks down from the bedroom window a few minutes later. His eyes seem to be fixed on something on the horizon, his head rests in his hand, his elbow on his knee. The sunrays make him look like a golden sculpture. Only his hair is barely moving, shaken by the light evening breeze, or maybe by the smooth saxophone sounds coming from the speakers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thanks for your comments!  
> "Life is good and other lies" now includes "life is freaking busy and our brains are roasted when we finally can sit down to write", so the next chapters may not come twice a week. But we promise, they will come!


	21. David

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weekend Smut is never wrong, is it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the late posting, totally my fault for getting distracted. I blame....Well... the list is too long. So. Davenzi smut? Here we go.

The kids have been gone all day. Not that Matteo is worried, because not only did he make Andreas attend the scouts when he was younger, he also paid a ridiculous amount of money to have his son attend some weekend survival skills camp, and as he keeps reminding David, the kid takes Thai boxing classes at school. And plays football. He’s got muscles in places Matteo knows all the names of. He has no doubt that Andreas would come out on top in a fight with anyone who would be unlucky enough to encounter those three kids out there. Not that there is anyone out there, because they have only met the lady who runs the farm on the other side of the lake and there doesn't seem to be anyone else around for miles. Apart from sheep. Moose apparently. And wild boar. Not that he has seen any.

Still David has that aura of worry about him that makes Matteo all tense. 

“Babe,” he says and plants a loud kiss on David’s head. “Do you remember that roadtrip? When we hitchhiked all around Europe and ate dodgy food and rode with weird truckers watching porn whilst driving?”

“Yeah.” David does that low belly laugh that makes Matteo all warm on the inside. “We were so bloody naive and stupid. Anything could have happened.” David mutters, but with a smile. He laughs and reaches out to stroke Matteo’s arm as he dumps his skinny arse on the sofa next to him, where the girls are fast asleep sprawled out on a mattress on the floor. They had played camping in the living room, dragging all their bedding with them to create a tent with blankets draped over dining room chairs, and David had made a camp picnic and Matteo had put a firm end to their brilliant idea of creating a campfire on the floor. There is an open fire in one of the rooms, but to be honest, Matteo has no idea how to use one, and he doubts the flue has been cleared, and knowing their luck they would set the house on fire. 

At least the girls are asleep. Lilly snoring quietly with her arm over her face, and Lottie with her teddies in a tight grip against her chest. 

“Andreas is safe out there. Maria and Fredrik are sensible and if anything was wrong they would just come home. Once they are out of food? They will be straight back here.”

“I know. It’s just weird not having Andreas home. I kinda miss him.” David sighs and gives Matteo a weak smile. “I’m being stupid. I know.”

“Not stupid. He’s our kid, it’s our job to worry about him. But we have to give him some space. Let him have the opportunity to grow. I mean, I hated having to move out of home, but I’m glad I was pushed into doing it, because I learned a lot of good skills having to look after myself.”

“You were a disaster. Luckily you found me and let me take care of you.” 

Normally Matteo would playfight. Go for it. Try to wrestle David off the sofa. Pretend to be deeply offended. Make it all into a joke. Instead he leans over and lays his head on his husbands shoulder. 

“You always look after me,” he whispers. “I don’t know what I would do without you.” 

“Luckily I am right here, and you don’t have to worry about not having me around. You are stuck with me now,” David says softly.

“I love that I am stuck with you.”

“Wanna go to bed?” 

It’s funny the face David does. Like he is grimacing about what he just said, coupled with a flash of fear. Matteo knows it well. It’s always there, the underlying unsaid words. Please just let me sleep. Nothing else. 

“Yeah. Sleep. Want a shower? You can go first, just leave me a tiny bit of hot water?”

“Sounds good,” David says, visibly relieved as his shoulders relax back down. 

They leave the girls where they are, fully aware of the fact that both of them will end up in their bed the minute the girls realize the house has fallen dark and quiet. But for now? It’s a treat falling head on into an empty bed, with wet hair framing his face and crisp sheets surrounding his skin.

“You changed the sheets?” Matteo squeals, burying his face in the pillow case. Clean. Fresh. Smelling of that laundry detergent he kind of likes. He must be getting old when the smell of detergent makes him all silly-happy. 

“Yeah, Even said it’s something Isak does sometimes when he wants to get in Even’s good books. He changes the sheets and tidies up and makes him a cup of herbal tea. That’s when Even let’s him fuck him.” 

“What?” Matteo giggles, hoping that he won’t wake the girls. Because this is a conversation he’s keen to continue. “So Even bottoms. I kind of thought it was the other way around?” 

“So prejudiced.” David laughs and taps his nose. “If you really must know, they are both verse and do whatever comes to them. A bit like us.”

“I like when you fuck me,” Matteo sings, leaning up to steal a kiss. 

“I like it when you fuck me too,” David admits. Blushing. Throwing his body down on the sheets, water droplets glistening on his chest. 

“It’s nice having you naked,” Matteo tries. They need to talk about this, otherwise David will clam up and Matteo will do something wrong and they will end up. Well, like they always do. Lying in uncomfortable silence.

“It’s too hot,” David says and moves his legs so he is sprawled like a starfish on his side of the bed, whilst Matteo is on his front, his legs hanging off the edge of the bed.

“We’re going to get eaten alive by the mozzies if we don’t get under the covers.”

See? Matteo can be sensible. When all he wants is to lie here and stare at David’s body. His hips. The dark hair trailing down his legs. Muscles. Thighs good enough to eat. His arms, with those biceps. If he didn’t know better he would lean over and just bite into David’s arms. He loves them. He loves him.

“Can we just….cuddle? Just for a while,” David says, his voice barely a whisper.

Matteo doesn’t reply to that. Just moves over, keeping his movements slow and steady, as he plasters himself to David. Head nuzzling into neck. Arms tight around his body. Legs knitting themselves into other legs until they are tangled like an octopus. The sigh he let’s out is embarrassingly loud, but he can’t help it. He’s a total cuddle slut. Always.

“Even said…” David starts. “Sorry. I’m constantly talking about Even. It’s like I’ve got some teenaged bro-crush on the guy.” 

“You do.” Matteo snuggles in closer. “And it’s fine. I like that you have a friend in him. Talking is good. Friends are good. And maybe when we go home you and Even can kind of facetime and chat and text, keep up this little daily therapy thing you have going. It’s nice.”

“It’s good for me,” David says and presses his lips to Matteo’s forehead. “It feels like I am sorting out some things in my head. Dealing with stuff and kind of realizing how to work on some things. Even said touch is really important to him. That cuddling is like a vitamin injection. When he is too ill to even think about sex, he still needs the skin on skin. He sometimes asks Isak to sleep next to him, naked, and he says that it helps him focus, having Isak all curled around him. Maybe I need that too?” He blows air. Sighs. Huffs.

“I think Even is very wise. Isak is lucky to have him. Skin contact is proven to be very therapeutic. We talk about it with some of our patients who don’t have a partner. We sometimes recommend to have a massage, go to a spa for the day, just have some beauty treatments to get used to having another person touch your body. It’s true, human touch can be magical. And yet it can be frightening, and over stimulating. I understand that. “

“I think I just need to figure out who I used to be. I want my life back. I used to love sex and now I lie here and wonder why? Why don’t I crave it? I mean you are right here?”

“I’m right here, babe. If you want anything, and I mean anything, I will give it to you.” 

He means that, and fuck him. Fuck everything because now his dick is thickening up and it’s not like he can hide it, the traitorous thing bouncing erratically against David’s leg.

“Could…” 

“Anything.” Matteo whines sounding like a horny teenager. It’s just. Fuck. It’s David, and he’s right here, and Matteo’s dick kind of craves a wet warm hole to bury itself in and hump the shit out of until he explodes into orgasmic bliss. 

“Get a fucking condom on and fuck me.” David laughs as Matteo’s hips jerk uncontrollably. He can’t help it. 

“Really?” he whines, drooling stupidly onto David’s collarbone.

“Really. The sheets are clean, and you are going to make a mess all over my leg in a second.”

“Are you sure, sweetheart?” Matteo almost whispers, still not quite grasping the fact that David is asking for it. “You never ask… I mean, I know you don’t...But?”

“Well we can discuss the children’s schooling or research new washing machines if you prefer, babe?” David almost chuckles whilst his face is blushed red. He looks at Matteo and his eyes become serious again. “I want us to somehow get back to normal. I mean not like we were before the kids, but we need to have sex. Just now and then. Get back in the saddle. Can we just try? Please? Just use a condom….. And don’t split it.”

“So bloody domestic.” Matteo laughs and reaches clumsily across to the bedside table. He stashed stuff there. He’s pretty sure. Along with the cleaned up Mr Stiffy and a few other toys. And his plug. 

Condoms. Right. Find one. Use it. “Extra strong!” he declares letting the packet twirl between his fingers. His brain has already short circuited as David shuffles down the bed, letting his legs wrap around Matteo’s hips as his fingers clumsily rips the condom wrapper. He’s done this a million times, yet it still feels alien. 

“Remember the first time we did this?” David whispers, as Matteo finally gets the condom rolled onto his uncooperative dick that is leaking and twitching and threatening to release before he even gets anywhere near that heavenly place between David’s legs. 

“I thought I was going to die, I was so bloody nervous. I thought I would mess up and hurt you, and at the same time I just knew I would come in my pants the minute you took your clothes off. “

“I hardly took any clothes off,” David giggles.

“Didn’t matter. I came in the condom inside of you and it felt like the biggest thing ever. I loved it. Couldn’t wait to do it again.”

“If I remember correctly we did. Do it again. A lot.”

“We did indeed,” Matteo whispers as he steals a kiss, and lines his cock up against David’s front hole. “Is this OK?” 

“Yeah,” David pants. 

“Need me to rub you off a little first? Suck you?” Foreplay is a thing, and here Matteo is, diving in like a selfish teen. 

“Nah, you’ll make me come like this, just do it,” David mumbles as Matteo let’s himself sink inside. 

It’s so much better with no condoms. But no. Not happening. Still. It’s. Wow. Tight. Hot. Lovely. His hips doing their own thing and David’s legs clamping around him like a vice, whilst Matteo isn’t quiet. No. He’s loud. He always has been. He can’t control it when it comes to David. When his body reacts like this, his lips sucking bruises into his gorgeous husbands neck, the coarse hair on his face scratching his own skin, hot breath and whispers that he can barely make out and fuck. Yeah. Hands on his own arse egging him on. Faster. Harder. Please. 

  
  


“Babe,” David says. A little too stern for Matteo’s liking as he stops. Pants. He can’t really speak right now. “I want you in my arse, babe. Properly. No bloody condom. I can’t feel you.” 

Yeah, Matteo knows he’s bloody lucky. Sex. It’s not quantity but quality right now, and his head is spinning trying to make sense of what David just said. 

“You want me to fuck your arse,” he states, his voice barely a squeal. Just checking. Because. Wow. He almost came saying the words and that would have been disastrous, because however horny he is he probably only has one orgasm in him these days. Not that he hasn’t tried out that theory because one wank usually puts him in a coma. He’s not 17 anymore. 

“Yeah,” David whispers. His eyes are closed and Matteo slides out, almost whining at the loss of warmth. Ripping the damn condom off and sitting back on his hunches. He needs to give his cock a few strokes, but he doesn’t trust himself right now. He would probably come. Fuck. He’ll probably come anyway. 

“Think of your granny,” David splutters into the pillow as he turns around, legs and arse everywhere, almost like he can read Matteo’s thoughts. 

“Arse,” Matteo giggles. 

“Yeah.” David is clearly losing it, giggling into the pillow. Matteo likes it. He likes everything about this as his brain finally snaps back into gear.

“You want this?” he almost whispers. Please. Fuck yeah.

“Yeah.” Comes from somewhere in the pillows as his hand rumbles through the bedside drawer and comes up trumps with the lube. The good stuff in the handy flip cap that covers Matteo’s fingers with silky liquid. Dripping over David’s crack as he flinches at the cold. Self-warming lube is a joke. It’s still bloody cold as he starts to slowly rub it into David’s crack with firm movements. The thing is, this part he knows. He knows exactly how to make it good. How to tease and make David all relaxed and turned on and desperate and fucking slutty. Begging for it. Well, he used to, and for a second he doubts himself and his bloody ego and attitude of knowing exactly what to do. He lubes up his fingers and starts to gently slide them over David’s hole. Just softly teasing as he passes the opening, drawing lazy stripes up and down. 

“Don’t tease,” David warns. 

“Behave,” Matteo replies, a smile spreading across his face. 

“Just….ohhh.” David moans. That’s good and Matteo’s ego takes another boost. 

“Let me do what I do best, and I promise I will make you come so hard that you see stars, babe.” 

“Promises, promises,” David pants as Matteo smiles Just stroking gently with his fingers as David clenches around him. 

“Spread,” he demands as his knees push David’s thighs further apart. “Need to see you.” And note to self. _Don’t bloody come_. Because now he is leaking from the tip and his dick is ridiculously hard and he can feel it all hot and wet bouncing against his wrist as he can feel David start to relax, making little needy noises up by the pillows. Personally he prefers when David just plunges it in. Shock and delicious stretch and the pain that makes all his senses stand on alert. He kind of loves it. Craves it. Whilst David needs a bit more before he truly starts to enjoy it. 

“You good?” he checks as David nods enthusiastically into the pillow. Followed by a moan that makes Matteo grin. 

“Do it,” David hisses. 

“Not yet.” Matteo teases, pushing two fingers all the way in and twisting in the process. Just so he can get a reaction out of David who responds beautifully, arching his hips and clearly drooling into the pillow. “Ahhhrhghg.” 

“Just a bit more, babe.”

“Need it. Just get inside of me. Now.”

“So bloody bossy.” Matteo whinges and pulls out, and generously covers his desperate cock with lube. The cold doing it’s job of buying him, perhaps, a few more seconds before he explodes. 

  
  


“Just do it,” David whispers. “Just fucking do it.”

He pants and lines up. Pushing gently, having to close his eyes as he sinks into the ridiculously tight heat. It takes a little effort. A few loud moans. David’s body twisting beneath him, beads of sweat running down his forehead, sweat dripping onto his back from the tip of Matteo’s nose. It’s just ridiculous. Good. So. Good.

“I need you to pound me good. Make me feel you.” 

Then David’s body freezes up and Matteo’s eyes spring open in shock. 

Fuck. His brain screams as Lottie stumbles through the door, covering her eyes from the bright light, before tumbling into the bed and burying herself under the duvet. 

“Off,” David whispers. 

“Damn.” 

“Fucking kids.”

“You don’t mean that,” Matteo chuckles.“Don’t wake her.”

“WHAT IF SHE SAW US?” 

“She saw nothing, she was pretty much sleepwalking.” Her breaths are already calm and light under the duvet. She looks completely relaxed, as if she doesn’t have a worry in the world.

“Damn.”

“Bathroom.”

They roll out of bed, Matteo’s cock having gone surprisingly limp, whilst David is all flushed, his nipples tight and erect as David trips on the bedside rug, making the bedside table wobble precariously and the plug rolls of the open drawer and hits the floor with a thump.

“We are the worst parents ever.”

“We are probably the most normal parents ever. Fuck what everyone says, everyone catches their parents fucking at some point, and at least she won’t remember a thing tomorrow morning.

“She will need so much therapy.”

“Shut up.” Matteo snarls and slams David into the bathroom sink, plundering his mouth with a frankly filthy kiss. He surprises himself with the moan that comes out of his own mouth as David humps against his front and they both almost frantically fight for the tight space before Matteo manages to get David pressed up against the sink and his cock lined back up pressing into that tight delicious hole that...fuck. His brain kind of goes blank. Like all the blood in his brain has rushed to his cock in a galvant emergency effort to save what was left of his flagging erection, well, it’s flagging no more, jerking and pulsing inside its tightly pressed home whilst Matteo’s mouth roars with the release tearing through him. 

“Fuck,” David hisses. 

Well, Matteo is gone. Can’t speak. 

“Move,” David pleads. 

He would if he could. But fuck, he’s just going to stay right here for the rest of his life, buried deep inside his man with a frankly ridiculous grin on his face. He just came like a bloody express train and his body is all strange and tingly and his brain is obviously drugged up on hormones because all he can do is drool and smile. 

“I didn’t get to come, you bloody useless bastard,” David snarls. 

“Love you,” Matteo slurs, whilst David desperately humps against him. 

“Then fucking make me come.” David laughs as Matteo once again grabs his face and kisses the living daylights out of him. This man. This fucking man.

“Turn around,” Matteo hisses, having suddenly regained control of his senses and rediscovered how to use his mouth. In more ways than one as he sinks to his knees and buries his face between David’s legs, letting his tongue delve in and do it’s job. He knows this shit. This. This right here is stuff I’m fucking good at, he thinks as David bends like a jackknife and roars into the bathroom wall, his hands grasping at the slick tiles and his legs almost giving way as Matteo’s fingers push up into his arse.

He makes David fucking come. He makes him come until they are both wedged into a heap of sweat and bodily fluids and embarrassed giggles on the bathroom floor. 

They are not 17 anymore and they will both be sore and embarrassed in the morning, but what the fuck. Right now? Right now everything is good. Life is good. And for once that is no lie. 


	22. Even

“Maria! Hi!”  
Maria is coming through the forest towards the garden. Her face and hair are wet from sweat, and she is breathing heavily. A backpack is hanging low on her back. She throws it on the ground. “Fucking boys”, she mutters. “They could have joined.” She grabs Isak’s empty glass from the table and fills it with the lukewarm watered squash from the jug before she drains the glass in one go.

Even smiles at her. “Let me get you some more. Do you want anything to eat as well? We have fresh buns.” She nods, and he walks inside to prepare more squash. They are almost out of it, he notes, as he mixes the remains of the bottle with water, and adds a handful of ice cubes from the freezer. He grabs three glasses from the shelves and puts them on a tray with the squash and a basket full of cinnamon buns. They aren’t warm anymore, and for a moment he considers heating them in the micro, but they are fresh enough and he takes it that the kids are probably thirsty and would rather he hurries up with the drinks than serving them warm buns. They don’t tend to care anyway.

“So how was the tenting?” he asks as he exits the veranda door. “Hey, where are the guys?” he asks confused. Maria reaches for the jugs and fills her glass again. She takes a large sip before answering. “They are still at the farm.”  
“The farm?”  
“Yeah, we followed the shore and then we got to the farm on the other side, and then Fredrik suddenly had wifi on his phone!”  
“Wifi? I thought he had turned that off to save battery?”  
“No, we connect to each other when we play, so it’s on.”  
“Ah. Ok.” Sure.  
“But where are the others? There is nothing wrong?”  
“No no. They just stayed there. I lost the draw. I am going back there afterwards. I am just gonna pick up some more food. We have food, don’t we? Don’t say we’re out of food again, dad?” She looks frustrated at him.

“Sure, we have food. We got enough yesterday. Well, not squash, you have the last of it in your glass there, unless the Germans have some, but there are plenty of bread and cheese and jam and snacks and hamburgers and salad inside. You managed to light a fire, didn’t you? You had enough matches and dry paper and firelighters, didn’t you? And you found wood in the forest?”  
“Yeah yeah.” She rolls her eyes as she breaks pieces off a bun and packs them into her mouth. “We had all the hotdogs yesterday, and tried to make toasts this morning but they were burned so we went to the farm and got breakfast there.”  
“The farm?”  
“They had milk straight from the cows, it was icky. They just pulled at their udders and filled the jar just before breakfast. It was not cold, and the taste was funny. But Fredrik liked it. Andreas spit out, but I swallowed.”  
“You swallowed? I mean, farm? What farm?”  
“The farm on the other side of the lake, dad. Are you stupid?” She shakes her head and points towards the far end of the lake.  
“You walked there?” he asks stupidly.  
“We followed the shore, just like you told us to. And then the beach was so narrow and there were trees all along and lots of insects, so we just kept walking, because Andreas said there should be a stream somewhere and the terrain was probably easier there, so we just walked. And then we found the stream and there was a nice spot there, soft grass and a nice beach, and then there was wifi!” She takes another piece of the bun.

“But wasn’t it far? Too far?” Even tries to remember how large the lake actually is, but it’s only a few kilometres. Not further than they have already walked when the kids were much younger and they still took them hiking on Sundays.  
“Na. Just a few kilometres.” Maria touches her watch and swipes through the screens. “5.3 kilometres.” She shrugs. “Fredrik complained that his sneakers were worn out, but he found a stone under the sole so it was his own fault.”  
“But the farm? Wifi?” Even is still confused.  
“The farm at the other side of the lake,” Maria says. “Jeez, are you stupid? We have driven past their road lots of times!”  
“Yeah, I know where it is, but why did you go there?”  
“I already told you! Because they had wifi!”  
“But how did you know?”  
“Because Fredrik’s phone picked it up.”  
“And then you just… went there and connected?”  
“Yeah?”  
“Did you go to a strange farm in the middle of the forest and just asked them for the wifi code? What if they were murderers? Child molesters? Robbers?”  
“Jeez! Daddy!” She rolls her eyes and looks straight at him.  
“We have told you not to talk to strangers like that! What if they were criminals?”  
“So what? Lots of people are criminals. Weed was a crime, too,” she says in a dry voice. 

Even swallows. He doesn’t really want that discussion now. He has to have a talk with Isak about what to reveal about their past and not, he is pretty sure he hasn’t said anything about it himself. But it could have been Jonas, too.

“Yeah, ok. But anyway you shouldn’t talk to strangers! You never know who they are.”  
“But we have seen them in the village. They said they know dad. And they had wifi. Do you want us to suffer without wifi just outside the fence of the farm?”

He opens his mouth to answer when he hears someone walk on the gravel.  
“Hi Even, have you heard anything from the kids yet?” David asks as he comes around the corner. “Oh, hi Maria!” he smiles, before looking around. His smile falters. “But where are the others?”  
“They are still at the farm,” Maria says. “We got wifi there so we’re staying for a few days. I just need to get some more food first.”  
“For a few days?” Even raises an eyebrow.  
“Yes!”  
“No, you can’t.”  
“Daddy! We can’t leave now, when we’ve finally gotten wifi! And I am here while the boys are still there, it’s unfair if they get to stay there but I have to be here!”  
“But you can’t stay for a week, Maria.”  
Maria ponders for a moment. “What about three days then?”  
Even shakes his head. “Nope.”  
“Two?”  
“Until tomorrow then.”  
“When tomorrow?”  
“Come back before it gets dark.”  
“But it gets dark so early!”  
“At ten is not early!”  
“Okay,” Maria grumbles. She looks at him, straightening her spine slightly. “Can I have some beers? Just one for each of us?”  
“Beer? Are you serious?” His voice seems to go up an octave.  
“It was just a question,” Maria protests.  
“You are fourteen!”  
“It was just a question, I say!”

He comes a step closer to her, trying to smell her breath. “Have you been drinking already? Have you brought beer for the trip?” He tries to remember how many beers they had in the fridge yesterday, but he has no idea anymore, not after the dinner the other night, they drank quite a lot then, and then David and Matteo had put a pile of cans there yesterday.

David is looking between them, clearly not understanding the words of their discussion, even though the mood is easy to see. “Beer?” he asks. “Are they drinking beer on this trip?”  
“No!” Even almost shouts. “There is no way they are drinking beer. They are 14, the legal age for beer in Norway is 18, I won’t make myself a criminal by giving them beer before that.”  
“No, too late to become a criminal, isn’t it?” Maria mutters sourly with a low voice.  
“What did you say?”  
“Nothing.”

Even looks sternly at her. “No more beer talk now. You won’t have beer on this trip, or any other trip or occasion before you are at least 18.” Maria opens her mouth to protest. “Not a word,” Even adds with a warning hand movement. “One word and I will revoke all your privileges for months. Immediately.”

Maria lets out a frustrated breath and turns around to walk into the kitchen. “I will grab some food and go back,” she says, with heavy emphasis on food.

“So, what’s the deal now?” David asks calmly, clearly confused after their shifting conversation in Norwegian.  
“She wanted to go camping for a week. We agreed on until tomorrow night.”  
“Are they still out?” he asks, clearly confused.  
“Yes, they are camping by the farm on the opposite end of the lake, apparently they got wifi there.”  
“Wifi? Here?”  
“No, over at the farm. It’s about 2 km across the lake, I think, a bit more when you walk along the shore.”  
“Ach so.” David looks towards the lake. The small point next to their beach is blocking the view there, but they can almost see it from the window upstairs.  
“So they insisted on staying. Maria is getting more food for them, the boys are still there. Probably gaming.”  
“Who are those people on the farm?”  
“Some locals. We don’t really know them, have barely met them in the village.”  
“But you trust your kids to stay there?”  
“Yes, they are probably ok,” Even says.  
“Probably?”  
“Well, as far as I know, but you can never be certain, can you?”  
“But you still let them go there?” David’s voice has an edge of panic.  
“Yes, sure. The probability of anything going wrong is very low, and if you don’t let them try they won’t fly either.”  
“But what if it goes wrong?”  
Even shrugs. “I guess we just need to believe it will end well. Or we’ll get crazy.”  
“That sounds incredibly irresponsible!”  
“Huh?”  
“It’s like you don’t care about your kids! You don’t worry at all! Do you really think they will manage everything on their own?”  
“Well, no. But if they can’t fail, they will never know either.”

“I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.” David is wringing his hands, almost like he is panicking.  
“Look,” Even says quietly. “If you really don’t like it, then we jump in the car and go check on them. It’s like 15 minutes in the car, 10 if we break the speedlimits.”  
“Fuck no, then Andreas will think that we don’t trust him. Matteo is really big on this trust thing. Says we need to let him be adult and trust him to come to us when they need us.”  
“But they are not adult. They are kids.” Now Even is contradicting himself and shakes his head vigorously as he starts to laugh. “We are shit parents.”  
“Yeah.” David laughs. “Anyway, I wouldn’t survive out here for more than 24 hours, like I’m a city kid. I never went camping or shit like that until Matteo forced me to go hitchhiking for a month and almost got us killed. Never again. I like a real bed at night and a solid roof over my head. And I would prefer Andreas to be at home with us, but…” David sighs deeply. “You are cool. You two are cool trusting parents and your kids are pretty awesome. It’s good for Andreas to spend time with them. He likes the two of them and I think he’s loved this holiday as much as we have.”

“Sometimes I think there are magical things in the air here, like problems come and go, but they don’t seem so big and overwhelming out here.” He laughs. “Says the bipolar freak who couldn’t get out of bed the first week you were here.”  
“You are out of bed now though? And you have been fine. You look fine? You sound fine? Are you fine?” David smiles and Even’s stomach feels warm.  
“I think I am. Really. I think right now, I’m kind of OK.”

From the heavy bulkiness of Maria’s backpack it looks like she has emptied the fridge completely. Luckily she hasn’t, though. There is still some meat left for Even and Isak, but the hamburgers are all gone, as well as cinnamon buns and the bread he just made. On top of the pack she has put a bag of chips, apparently being more careful about them now than last time.  
“I am leaving now,” she says, leaning slightly forward from the poorly distributed load on her back.  
“Your backpack looks really heavy,” Isak says, following Maria closely as she stomps out onto the patio.  
“Can I have a look?” Even says, more stern than he wanted.  
Maria rolls her eyes at him. “Why? Don’t you trust me?”  
“Trust you? Of course we do?” Isak says.  
“Apparently daddy doesn’t,” Maria says while letting the pack slide down from her shoulders. “But just sneak through it,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest.  
Isak lifts an eyebrow at Even. “What’s going on here?” he asks.  
“Just a little parenting,” Even answers dryly. “She asked me for beer.”  
“Beer? You?” Isak looks surprised at her.  
“It was just a joke,” she pouts.  
“Well, I can help you pack this shit a bit better anyway,” Even says while pulling stuff from her pack and lining it on the deck. In addition to the burgers, buns and bread, she has several bottles of soda, a cheese, a pack of hotdogs, leftover salad from yesterday, some sweets, apparently the snacks cupboards were quite empty, peanuts and chips. “Healthy feeding,” he says dryly.  
“And no beer.” She looks down at him. Her face is grim.  
“No, no beer.” Even looks up at her. “I didn’t expect you to hide any beer either. You know, Maria. I do trust you. We trust you.”  
“Do you think we’d let you go camping alone with the boys if we didn’t trust you?” Isak adds.  
She shrugs.  
“Well, if we didn’t trust you but still let you, it would be quite irresponsible, wouldn’t it?” Isak smiles.  
“Yeah. Guess so.” Her face lightens slightly. “But can I go now?” She looks down at the food on the deck. “Can you pack it for me, dad?”  
Even nods. “Sure. That’s why I unloaded it in the first place, wasn’t it?”

***

“Wifi, you say?” Matteo scratches his chin. “Do they have better mobile coverage over there?”  
“I don’t think so. The mobile antenna covering us is in the opposite direction, and there aren’t any obstacles between us and the antenna that they don’t have. I guess they have just managed to get the cable company to deliver internet to them. They wouldn’t do it here, since it’s just a cabin.”  
“Ach so.” Matteo looks confused. “I didn’t know you had such rules here. I don’t think we do in Germany.”  
“Well, I guess Germany is less sparsely populated. We’re not really in an urban area here,” Even says wryly.  
“I guess you are right,” Matteo laughs. “But let me check with a friend of mine. I have an idea.”  
“Sure.” Even continues to clean the patio.  
“If you get wifi here, the place could be worth a fortune,” Isak smiles. “Imagine using this place for a seminar or a workshop for a company, Even.”  
“Yes, it would be über-cool!” David adds. “You can make more bedrooms in the barn, it has two floors so you can easily fit like… 15 people there.”  
“Double rooms, then it will be twice as many,” Matteo corrects.  
“Right, double rooms. And bathrooms.”  
“Definitely bathrooms.”  
“Maybe the girl in the cafe will cook,” Isak says. “She bakes wicked cakes at least.”  
“Cakes are not enough,” Matteo protests. “She has to know how to cook food as well.”  
“I am sure there are people in the village that will happily care for the house when you are not here, no problem at all.”  
“Yes, agree, it should be supereasy to get like a caretaker.”

Suddenly Even gets up. His chair falls backward and hits the floor with a sharp sound while he marches out. He hears Isak’s confused voice, the calmer voices of David and Matteo, he wants to be alone now, but for an instant he hopes Isak will follow him across the yard.

The barn is rising above him as he gets closer. The wall is giant in front of him, he feels like a minion in front of the door. The lock is hard as he unlatches it, and the hinges are creaking as the door slides open, a long squeak screeching against his ear drums. 

It is dim inside. The shadows are creeping from the corners, building a landscape of different shades of darkness, black peaks against the grey backgrounds, rays of sunlight through the old planks.

He feels the wall to the right of the door until he finds the light switch, about at the same time as his eyes have adjusted and he starts seeing details, the thought goes through his head at the same time as he pushes the old-fashioned lever up and the light flows through the room.

The shelves are grim. Dust covers the surfaces, there are spots on the wood where someone has touched it, probably Isak, maybe Maria and Fredrik. Even remembers Isak saying something about putting the camp gear next to the door, and he can see marks after some larger items having been dragged across the shelves.

He walks through the room, passes the old sofa, the table, bookshelf, an old tractor. Some boxes are on the desk. He strokes his hand along the sleek, dark wood, he isn’t sure what kind of wood it is, maybe teak, he thinks, dark red-brown. The desk is worn, there are dark spots on top of it, a grey half circle next to the logical place to sit.

He has to try. He has to give the thought a chance, even if it is more and more unbearable the more he thinks about it. Maybe Isak is right, it is too much for them, they should sell it. Maybe himself is right, the place has potential, they could transform it to something. But no matter what, he should clean here. Clean the dirt, clean out the garbage. Rent a skip, fill it, rinse, repeat. Matteo had assured him that they could help, David had talked to him about keeping and losing. 

The uppermost box is open and he peeks inside. There are papers. Lots of papers. He sighs, doesn’t feel like checking them now. Instead he looks at the pile of books next to the desk. It’s science and engineering, weird graphs and arrow and formulas, he doesn’t understand much of them. Mathematics for engineers, physics, engines, fluid mechanics. He flickers through them, don’t understand anything. His eyes falls on the first page of it. _Erik N. Albrektson._ The writing is neat, blue pen, even letters. 

He frowns, there is something known about the name, he just doesn’t remember what, some story from his mum, or grandmother, about Erik? Bella isn’t his real aunt, she was more remote family, a third cousin of his grandmother, there was a generation skew there so she was at his grandmother’s age despite being a generation older. But they didn’t have contact even back then, Bella was never part of their family. When she died and Even inherited her farm, her history was lost.

His eyes falls on the pile of papers lying next to the brown cardboard box. There is a bunch of newspapers, colorful pictures on the front page, yet the paper has the yellow tan of aging. Politicians he barely remember from his young years, football players he has no idea about, football was never interesting anyway, random events he has heard about, wars, accidents, murders, it looks like a row of repeating events from a lifetime ago. They are not in order, not complete, not Saturday editions only, he doesn’t understand why they are here, why the pile is kept, in a cardboard box that looks almost new compared to the newspapers, none of the dodgy corners a box will get after decenniums in semi-humid conditions, the half-ripped tape when the box is moved. 

He continues to look at the contents. There is another pile next to the first, lower, sheets only. It looks like diplomas, craftsmanship, a general diploma, further down one from Kungliga Tekniska Högskolan, bachelor in engineering, it matches the pile of books, the name is the same.

Then there is a death certificate, dated in 1988, signed by the local parish, with the small wooden church in the village, he remembers how idyllic the church yard looks, like a park, with white fence, benches, birch trees, green grass, old stones, a place for serenity, no stress, no noise. He frowns when he reads it. Erik N. Albrektson, born on 19 September 1941, dead on 24 December 1988, buried on 6 January 1989. Holy Three Kings’ Day. Epiphany. 

It doesn’t feel like an epiphany. He is just more confused. He still has no idea who this Erik is, why there is a pile of his papers here, a collection of bits and pieces over almost 30 years, the last pieces less than ten years before he was born himself, yet nobody has mentioned him.

He freezes when he reads the death certificate more carefully. “Dödsårsak: Självmord”. Reason of death. Suicide. 

It’s like experiencing it again, from above, from below, from inside, outside. 

The rush of clarity, the actions, the feelings, the lights, the sounds. The ice cold chock of air hitting the stinking wet spots running down along his neck, the whiff of cold air against his skin, the smell, the smells that still hit him like a shock when he visits a doctor’s office, the odors he can suddenly feel in a corridor at work. The beeping noise in his ears, increasing to a loud beep shrilling in his ear, a humming tone vibrating towards the pitch, it brings back a memory of rushing white clad figure, holding him, lifting him, pinching him, shouting, more noise, unfriendly touches, followed by silence.

The pain when he did it, the pain when he didn’t. 

The questions, the spoken, all the whys, why why why, why you, why me, why us, the unspoken, the tears, the looks, the faces, the lips about to open to go from unspoken to spoken, the lips that didn’t and that he hated for not doing the, the lips that did and that he hated for doing it. 

The answers he never had. The moment he did it, he knew why, afterwards he had no idea, couldn’t explain it. The pain, the guilt, the feeling of dread, of not making it, of making it but still not making it. 

The feelings are so close and yet so distant. He can feel them, almost physically, but it’s still like it happened to another person, to someone who is not him. He is not the kind of person who would do this, he may be in a dark spot, but he wants to live, he can’t imagine not living, of not having Isak and Maria and Fredrik. The thought of not having what he has now is almost stifling, he can’t breathe, the breathing tube is too narrow, he can’t draw his breath. His mind circles around the world, breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, hold, breathe out, hold, breathe, breathe, breathe breathe breathe.

But still. He didn’t do it, and sometimes he wasn’t sure if he was happy for it.  
Erik did it, and Even had no idea if Erik was happy for it. He knew in a selfish moment that he wasn’t happy or it himself, it meant more questions he would never get an answer to, more whys, more more more.

He tries to calm down, concentrates on the old air from the barn reaching his lungs, looking around at the things, accumulated over many years, dist, traces in dust, bunnies, spiderwebs. It’s old, but it’s here, and he is here. 

He tries to see it with Isak’s eyes. With a stranger’s eyes, someone not affiliated with this place, even though he is not quite sure what his affiliation is other than a financial one.

He sees the broken furniture, outdated, battered. The creaky sofa, moth eaten mattresses, piles of boxes, tools from the garden, wood, buckets of paint, chemicals, loads of stuff that nobody loves anymore. He wonders if any of these things have a history, if they could tell something interesting if they could speak. Maybe not the oil can or the paint bucket, but the mattress the sofa, the papers, what do they tell.

Aimlessly he wanders around, slides his finger across the grime tabletop, tries to centre his thoughts on something.  
He walks back to the desk with the boxes, determined to search through them. He riffles the papers, continues the sorting someone, probably Isak, has already started. More diplomas and statements for shorter courses, books, newspapers, paper clippings. All of it are printed matters, not even handwritten lecture notes.

Suddenly he startles. He just took out the last pile of papers when a small, thin piece of paper falls down from his hands like a falling leaf in the autumn, sliding from side to side through the air. It lands face up on the desk, and he grabs it with trembling hands. 

_“Min kära Erik forlot meg. Alltid min. Alltid din. B.”_  
“My dear Erik left me. Always mine. Always yours. B.”

He stares at the words.

It’s the closest he has come something of Bella. There are no letters, no diaries, no notes, hardly anything written in the margins of the books. 

He peeks into the box again. Under the bottom flap he can see something. Carefully he picks up a black and white photo. It’s a man and a woman, standing next to each other in front of a barn, probably this barn, he thinks, trying to imagine the woodworks outside. He has his arm slung around her shoulder, they are looking into the camera, smiling, he is lifting his chin a bit, while she is leaning towards his side. Their clothes are typical for the 60ies, not the hip urban modern clothing of the era, but tradition countryside style. A knitted vest over his shirt for him, a floral dress for her. 

He turns the picture around. There are no names on the backside, only some small initials in the lower left corner, just below his thumb. _H.A._ , the letters seem to be of age, just like the picture, a great-grandmother may have written like this, he imagines, slightly crooked, the pencil letters blurred by touches.  
Even frowns. He has no idea who H.A. might have been, doesn’t remember anyone with that name, was it the photographer, the person who kept the photo until aunt Bella got it, or perhaps it was never aunt Bellas’s at all? 

***

He can hear Maria and Fredrik far away when they come back late in the evening the next day. He is chilling on the patio, trying to read a book, but ending up looking mindlessly at his phone. Isak is doing something in the garden, while Matteo and David have taken the girls to a newly opened trampoline park a bit south.

Their laughter is infectious, he thinks. Maria’s loud shrills, Fredrik’s deeper sniggers. He can imagine how they walk, the banter, the jokes, their smiles. He wonders if Maria’s pack is as full as when she left yesterday, who is carrying the tent, do they have one sleeping bag each or have they split the luggage in a more creative way?

“Hi daddy!” Fredrik laughs as they enter the patio from the lawn. He wrangles his pack off and puts it on the deck, and Maria follows suit. “Do you have anything to drink?” they ask.  
“Sure. You can…” He changes his mind, he can get it for them. “I will get some drinks for you. Is Andreas coming as well?” he asks.  
Maria shakes her head. “He went back to the cabin.”

“So how was the trip?” he asks as he balance a tray with water and glasses and sandwiches out.  
“It was nice.” Fredrik has already grabbed a thick sandwich and stuffed half of it into his mouth while talking.  
“Fredrik, manners, please,” Even sighs.  
“Sowwy. Am hungwy.” He chews on the big pieces of fresh bread, cheese and smoked ham.  
“We saw some tracks, dad,” Maria says, looking curiously at him.  
“Tracks?”  
“Yes, look.” She hands him her phone and points at some slightly foggy tracks in the mud. Even scrunches his forehead. “They are kind of unclear,” he says. Maria glances at her phone. “Oh.” She swipes a few times and looks at her screen. “This one is better,” she says.

“Could it be badger?” she asks while Even is looking at the picture. “It stole garbage from the bag we left outside the tent.”  
Even stills and looks at her. “You left litter outside the tent?”  
“Yes, it was stinking, none of us wanted it inside the tent!”  
He frowns. “This is certainly not badger,” he says.  
“Are you sure?” Maria asks.  
“Absolutely. Look here.” He points. “The badger has claws that leave marks, its feet resemble our feet just with claw marks in front of the toes.” He looks down again. “This is more like a deer?” he says, with a question in his voice.  
Maria shakes her head. “Nope, it was not a deer. It made those sniffing noises, like it was digging in the soil with its snout.”  
“You sure?” Even asks.  
“Of course.”  
“Could have been wild boar, then,” he says, lightly.

“Wild boar?” Maria says in shock. Fredrik looks at them with open mouth, apparently still in the middle of a sandwich.  
“Looks like that,” he shrugs.  
“But they are dangerous.”  
“Yeah, they have been known to kill people. Maul them with their fangs. Turn into Werewolves in the middle of the night.”  
“Like the ones who are human during the day and when the moon rises they turn into wild boar?”  
“You’ve read too many dodgy romance novels, Maria.” Fredrik mutters.  
“You read them too, I know because I found one in the bathroom at home and you had bent back the pages. I never deface books.”  
“I don’t, that was Even.”  
“What?” Even squeals and crosses his chest.  
“You read my Shifter series? The one with the werewolves in Canada?” Maria throws an evil glance at Even as he tries to find the words to defend himself.  
“I needed something to entertain myself on the toilet, and it was just there. It was kind of ...weird. I mean I didn’t like all the bone breaking when they shifted. It was.. You know? Kind of gross..”  
“Daddy…” Maria sighs and rolls her eyes.

They laugh. It’s good. To laugh. And Even smiles at his little family. Laughter. It’s funny how the little things make him feel like his life might sometimes be bloody perfect.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the kids were lost in the forest with wifi and wild boar? Lucky they got back at all, I guess! And the barn, what more could it hide?
> 
> As always, thanks for your comments! Next to coffee and a (not so) small glass of wine, they are what keeps us rolling!


	23. Matteo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time for a Man to Man talk, the end of the holiday is near and everyone is kind of dreading it, in their own ways.
> 
> Thank you for reading, commenting and cheering us on, it makes us both insanely happy that you are enjoying this little venture, and we promise there is more fun to come. xxx Happy reading!

“Papi!” Andreas says, dragging the over-flowing kitchen bin over to the car, as Matteo tries to reach the back of the boot with the hoover. They’ve hardly bought anything to bring home, yet the car somehow has gained a massive pile of rubbish that now festers on the grass, and more stains and dirt than when they arrived. They had brought a lot of stuff. Basic food items, things that they have surely used up. He bought loads of wine, beer, coffee, all things that are now gone. Surely there must be space in the car for the way back? Yet he doesn’t understand how he will be able to fit everything back in. 

“What?” He snarls back, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. They are not due to leave until Saturday morning anyway, but, he likes to be prepared and anyway, they need to clean the house and put the sheets through the wash and sort out the towels and David? He hasn’t seen him since this morning despite him promising that he would hoover the bedrooms and dust down the windowsills that are looking more and more like a graveyard of dead flies and mosquitoes. It’s summer. They are in the countryside. And he’s sweating like a boiled crab in the heat that has suddenly engulfed the Nordics, causing everyone to seek out the shade and the girls have pretty much lived in the lake for the last two days. They are there now, carefully supervised by Maria. He hopes. 

“Can we, like, you know..” Andreas starts, looking a little flustered as he leans against the car, then jumps away as the hot metal obviously has burnt his arm. 

“You ok?” 

“Yeah. Just. Hot, you know.”

He pants. Matteo pants. 

“Want a drink?” Matteo tries. Andreas obviously has something on his mind, and Matteo knows him well. If he doesn’t pry it out now, it will never get said. 

“We only have tap water. I’m kind of sick of tap water. Why do we not have any Sprite?”

“‘Cause Sprite is shit.” Matteo laughs. “Come sit down and talk to me.”

“Can we have one of those  _ Man to Man _ talks where what I say never gets mentioned again?” Andreas does little quote marks with his hands as they take their seats on the veranda. Looking pained. And Matteo knows, because it’s fucking hard to talk about the kind of shite that they have talked about in the past. Man to Man. 

“Of course. Cross my heart.”

“I’m not gay.” Andreas says and shoots a shit eating grin at his father. 

“Noted.” Matteo laughs and leans over so he can bury his face in his hands for a second. 

Deep breath. 

“I’ve….” Andreas starts. Then obviously chickens out. “I’ve liked it here.”

“Me too.” Matteo confesses. “It’s been good for Vati. He’s been more relaxed.”

“He’s still depressed, you can see that, can’t you?” Andreas says, almost aggressively.

“Yes, I know he is. It’s not something that will go away overnight. He needs to get back to teaching and feeling useful again, that’s something I think might help, finding a good routine and...I don’t know. To be honest, Andreas, a lot of the time I don’t know if he will ever be the person he was a few years back. We have all changed in the last couple of years. I mean, look at yourself. You are not the same kid now as you were when you were ten. Or eleven or twelve for that matter. Last year you were still playing Pokemon.”

“I still play Pokemon sometimes. It relaxes me. Kind of like feeling like a kid again, not being so grown up.”

“You feel grown up?” 

“Sometimes I feel like I don’t really fit in my own skin anymore. And other times I feel tiny and stupid, like when Maria talks about stuff that I don’t understand, or stuff that I never even thought of. I feel stupid a lot around her.”

“What about Fredrik? Do you feel stupid around him too? Girls are way ahead of boys at your age, so don’t worry about it. You will catch up and you are definitly not stupid.”

Andreas goes quiet again, looking out into the trees. A definite unease in his posture as he sighs loudly. 

“Is there something you want to talk to me about?”

“I fucked up, I think. I did something stupid.”

“We all do stupid things. The trick is to apologize if you have and offer to make things better. Sometimes just acknowledging that something you did was stupid can fix a lot of aggro. You know. Just admitting that you are an idiot.”

“You do that a lot with Vati. Telling him you are an idiot.”

“I am an idiot most of the time. He knows that. But see? He still loves me, despite all the shit that I do.”

“You do do some stupid shit.” Andreas shakes his head. 

“And you are unfortunately my kid, and you know. Genetics and all that.” Matteo laughs and leans back in his chair. “Sorry kid. You are destined to fuck up at times. It’s just the way it is.”

“It’s just…” Andreas starts. “Fuck. It’s hard to talk about, but I don’t know what to do. I didn’t mean for it to turn out like this, it was just a stupid idea and. … Fuck.”

“Language.” Matteo says softly. “Man to man talk. Nothing you say will come back to haunt you. Promise. It stays here.” He thumps his chest. Quietly fearing whatever Andreas will come out with, because right now he hasn’t got a clue. Nothing. The kids are fine. Maria and Fredrik have behaved totally normal. Nothing is broken or missing. What he knows off?

“You have to promise. I mean, don’t tell Vati. Don’t talk about it and don’t try to talk to him.”

“Okay? Him?”

“Fredrik.”

“ _ What _ about Fredrik.”

He tries to keep his voice calm when he just wants to shout. Drugs? Did they smoke whilst camping? Get drunk? Fuck.

It takes a while until Andreas speaks again, and his voice is pained. Almost like he is about to burst into tears. 

“We talked a lot when we were camping, at least until we found the wifi, which by the way was bloody awesome. Anyway, we were talking about kissing, and love and sex and boys and girls and all that shit. You know, normal stuff.”

“Yes.” Matteo says, his voice slightly squeaky. Fuck. Fuck Fuck Fuck.

“Then Maria offered to go and get more food, because we were kind of out of stuff to eat, and Fredrik and I kind of got deep. You know talking about really personal stuff. It was, you know, interesting. He’s a lot like me, and we agreed that we kind of thought that the other person was awesome. You know. Bro-Awesome. Friends. That we would miss each other when we leave here and that we need to stay in contact. All the normal stuff.”

Matteo just nods. Of course they did. Normal stuff.  _ Then they took drugs. _

“We didn’t take drugs Papi. You look like you are about to shout at me.”

“Did you?” Matteo squeals. “What did you take?”

“We did not take drugs. Papi, where the hell would we get drugs from?”

“I don’t know, I mean the farm? Do they deal?”

“The lady there grows organic wheat and rears chickens. They have crazy ass sheep, but she’s no bloody gangster. What have you been smoking, Papi? You are behaving all crazy.”

Matteo just breathes. Deep deep breaths. “You sure? No drugs?”

“Have I ever ever taken drugs? Got drunk and got into trouble? Papi? Really?”

“No?” Matteo’s voice sounds smaller than he intended it to be. 

“I kissed him, OK?” Andreas almost shouts. “I kissed him and then we made out and it was kind of really good and then we promised that we would never do that again, and it was just experimenting and we were both good with that, and now he is hiding and won’t speak to me and it’s fucking awkward and I think Maria wants to kill me.” 

“But you are not gay," Matteo says. Then freezes. Yeah. He’s an idiot. But at least the drug thing worked. Classic psychology. Accuse him of doing something way worse than the thing he actually did. Soften the blow. At least Andreas talked. 

“I’m not gay," Andreas says sternly. “It’s very normal to experiment and try things and anyway it was no different from kissing a girl, and we just had fun and laughed about it and what the hell, anyway. I’m not apologizing for shit, I just need him to talk to me and be all normal so we can play Fortnite and be all cool and shit.”

“Awkward.” Matteo sighs. He’s still an idiot. There is no cure for how much of an idiot he can be.

“Yeah, and Maria says she thinks he’s in love with me.”

“She’s an idiot and should not say anything like that. That’s wrong. You need to speak to him and not go gossiping with his sister. So she knows?”

“Yeah. I told her and before you shout at me I know that was wrong and I don’t know if she hates me because I told her or because I made out with her brother. Who is straight, by the way. We agreed on that. It doesn’t make you gay because you like kissing. Kissing is awesome.”

“Yeah, kisses are good,” Matteo says, and shakes his head to try to get his brain back into gear. 

“So you know we are going home tomorrow and I can’t leave like this. I feel like shit and everyone hates me and don’t… Don’t go telling his dads because they will kill me. Isak is scary, he will probably beat me up and poison me with something and I will die a terrible death on the ferry back and there will be nothing you can do to save me.”

“Isak would never do anything like that.”

“Fredrik says he studies deadly poisons and biological warfare. He could kill me. Just like that and I wouldn’t know what hit me.”

“Really? Bullshit.”

“Ok, not really, but it’s what happens in the book I’m reading, this guy gets slowly poisoned by something in his clothes and before he realizes he is like stone cold dead.”

“Okay…” Matteo laughs. "He wouldn’t kill you, WTF? Isak is a professor in Astrophysics or some shit. Why would he? Because you and his son are friends and shared some kissing when you were camping? He’s not insane.”

“No, but the rest of us are. Sometimes I think that maybe you are the only sane person here,” Andreas mutters.

“I have been clinically depressed. Several times. Nobody is sane here, Andreas. We are just totally normal human beings who don’t always make the best choices for ourselves. I am not saying you made a bad choice, because I don’t think you did. As long as you were both into it and enjoyed it then it’s just a choice you need to talk about and kind of, you know, laugh about?”

“No. It wasn’t funny.”

“But you had his consent? He agreed to the kissing?”

“He was into it. We both were, I mean I am not stupid. If he had said no, I wouldn’t have kissed him, but anyway he kissed me first so …..”

“Okay.” Matteo laughs. “I don’t know what to say.”

“We can’t go home yet.”

“We need to go home.”

“But you don’t go back to work for another two weeks, and Vati is freelance, and school is not back yet.”

“Did Maria put you up to this?”

“No! I know my own mind Papi, I just need some time to figure this shit out. It’s bloody annoying.”

“We need to go home,” Matteo says sternly. “ We have only paid until tomorrow, and anyway, the cottage is probably rented out to someone else from tomorrow.”

“It’s not. I asked.”

“We have packed.”

“I’m not going. Not yet. I need to get Fredrik to talk to me.”

“That’s good. A good strategy. But what If Fredrik doesn’t want to talk to you?”

“That’s the problem. You are not helping, Papi."

“Hi!”

  
Shit. Andreas freezes up like he’s been shot and Matteo laughs awkwardly.

“You didn’t hear any of that I assume?” he says sternly hoping that Isak didn’t hear a thing, and that he doesn’t really work with biological warfare. Because Matteo is a stern pacifist and that shit is scary. And why the fuck has he not asked him more about what he does for a living apart from that it’s something to do with Astrophysics?

“Hear what?” Isak says looking confused. “Look, I am here because I have kind of a favour to ask. If you want to, that is, no pressure and I certainly wouldn't want you to feel like you have to because I know you have lives at home and all that. But. You know?”

“Dude, what are you asking?” Matteo asks, sounding a little relieved. Scared perhaps. Shit, he knows fuck all right now. 

“Even is really doing well, and he is talking a lot with David, and the kids are having the best time, and the cottage is free, and I just heard David saying that you don’t have to go back to work for another two weeks, and well. What I am really saying is, if you want to stay for a few more days? Then stay. Don’t just fuck off because we booked a certain day on Airbnb."

“We can’t stay.” Matteo says. “We only paid until tomorrow, and you need your income and it’s not fair. Anyway we have eaten all the food, and overstayed our welcome in so many ways. I bet you can’t wait to see the back of us so you can have some peace and quiet.”

“You haven’t taught me to cook that pasta thing you made the other night, and I have a moose roast in the freezer we haven’t cooked,” Isak sulks.

“Sorry?” Matteo says, then laughs out loud as Isak looks like a disappointed child. 

“It’s been fun having you here,” he says instead, then twists his body round and does some kind of half whine, half shout. 

“Sorry. I’m worse than the kids. The twins are twisting me around their little fingers. They asked me to go ask you if you can stay. David wants to stay. Maria burst into tears last night when we talked about you leaving and Fredrik hasn’t left his room since yesterday. He kind of does that, grieves in advance when things are going to change. He’s a sensitive kid, and I think he has enjoyed having company here.”

“Our twins like your kids,” Matteo says quietly. “They think Fredrik is way cooler than Andreas,” he says, winking at Andreas who still looks frozen with fear.

“My kids adore your kids,” Isak says quietly. “Maria keeps asking if we can have a new baby.”

“What?” Matteo laughs.

“Yeah. She says she is not having kids, but that she would help if we had another one. Fucking madness. It would kill us.”

“You are not seriously thinking about it?” Matteo says sternly.

“No.” Isak laughs. "But we have been talking about the future and I think we need to make some changes. You know, make us happier.” He sits down on a chair next to them and picks at the peeling paint on the table. 

“You really are going to go? Saturday morning?”

“That’s the plan," Matteo says. 

“Plans. Are made for changing,” Andreas says and shoots Matteo a little smile.

“Do you want to stay?” Matteo asks, trying to read his son’s face. Worries with a pinch of relief shining through the little smile still stuck on his lips.

Okay, he thinks. Obviously Andreas liked the kissing bit too and wants to do it again. And that could be shitty. So yeah. They should go. The kid can go up and talk and sort things out and they will leave Saturday morning as planned. Experimenting is good. Kissing is good. Heartbreak is shite. Better to cut the strings now, before Andreas falls in love and his life becomes a mess. If he should. Fall in love that is. Shit. This whole conversation just got messy in his head.

“What do you say?” Isak says quietly. “Moose roast tomorrow night and then you can help me clear out the barn and we can have a few beers and shoot the shit over dirty old furniture and stuff we should burn? Make a big bonfire and grill hot dogs over aunt Bella’s junk? Am I selling this staying stuff to you yet?”

“Sounds tempting,” Matteo smiles. “But I think we really should go. Need to get the kids sorted for school and a few jobs to sort out. You know. Stuff to do. Get the car serviced.”

“Excuses,” Isak says sternly. “You know you want to.” 

“I do want to,” Matteo replies, rubbing his face with his hands. “But I need to speak to David. And I have paid for the ferry tickets and all that.”

“Talk to him? Yeah?” Isak says. “ And if it makes any difference, I could do with a mate for a few more days. It’s been good having you here.” 


	24. Isak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He hears the cars leave, the crunching of the wheels against the gravel, the sounds gradually becoming weaker through the forest until it’s quiet and all he can hear is the wind making its low sounds through the trees, the leaves rattling and the birds chirping.
> 
> The silence is almost stifling, surrounding him and kind of choking him with the pressure against his eardrums and his skin. But in the end it’s a comfortable kind of pressure, a safe one, making him feel good against the silence, as if it’s holding him down so he can relax.

He is stretching his arms touching the headboard of the bed, spreading his upper arms wide while yawning loudly and stretching his toes as far as he can. His joints are creaking are he rolls his shoulders, it’s on the edge of being unpleasant yet still a habit in the morning. With another yawn he rolls over, looking towards the other half of the bed.

Even is staring up at the ceiling. He doesn’t move when Isak moves closer and slings his arm across his chest. He is resting his neck in his hand, his arm bent behind him. The duvet covers his lower body, his belly and chest are rising and falling at each breath. They are heavy and constrained, a puff of air at each exhale. Sometimes his breaths are longer, turning into pure sighs.

“What’s wrong?” Isak asks in a low voice.  
“Nothing,” Even immediately says, before drawing his breath and turning around against Isak. “Or…” His blue eyes are fixed at Isak as he puts his hand on Isak’s face. His thumb is following his cheek bone, touching the tender skin below his eye. Isak tastes the root of Even’s hand next to his mouth, planting small, wet kisses there while closing his eyes.

Even puts his arms around Isak. They are holding him tight, as if he is afraid to lose him. Isak draws in the heat from his neck next to his nose. Even’s breaths are tickling against his temple. Isak pulls him closer and strokes his palm up and down along Even’s back. “What is it,” he asks again. “You know you can tell me.”  
He feels Even nod against his head.

“Maybe you are right,” he whispers.  
“U-hu?”  
“About selling the farm.”

Isak waits.

“Maybe it’s for the best. To get rid of it. Maybe we can’t do it. Or I can’t.” He corrects himself before clinging closer to Isak.  
“Or maybe it’s worth it,” Isak mutters.  
“I don’t know. What’s the value then?”  
Isak shrugs. “I don’t know?”  
“Neither do I. And that’s the problem. I don’t know why I am clinging to it. Except it’s mine, but that sounds somehow childish for a reason.”  
“Well, it is, then,” Isak says. “And I don’t think it is childish to relish that.”  
“Maybe not. But still, why is it good?”

Isak is silent. He waits for Even, or perhaps for himself, he is not sure.  
“I am trying to depict life without the farm. It’s surprisingly hard, despite the fact that we've only had it for like three years,” he says.  
“It’s a bit like having kids, I guess. they become a habit awfully fast.”  
“Mm. But still, even when I am used to this I am not sure I really want it. It’s nice to have this place, but it’s kind of a restraint as well. It binds a lot of money and time,” he says. “Like, we will forever spend our summers here now.”  
“Do you miss going elsewhere?” Isak asks.  
“No, not really. It’s just… the possibility, you know? That we don’t have to go here?”  
Isak nods. “But we don’t _have_ to go here, you know. We don’t _have_ to do anything,” he adds. “We could spend our holidays elsewhere.”  
“I know. Kind of. But still.”  
Isak strokes Even’s neck. The skin is smooth, and he gently massages the muscles along the stiff tendons. “Maybe we should just clean out the barn anyway,” he says. “It could be useful whether you build that film studio you are dreaming or or whether we sell ut.”

Even nods and rolls over towards him, drowning him in desperate kisses while grinding against his hips.

“Are you trying to twist my arm here?” Isak laughs into his mouth.  
“What ever do you mean?” His voice is just a mumble, wet open mouthed kisses dripping on Isak’s skin. On his throat, his neck. His cheeks.  
“You know that I will say yes to anything, do anything, say anything you want once you have me where you will have me in a minute or two.”  
“You mean when I have you all desperate and needy and begging for my cock.”  
“Fuck off. I am totally in control here.”  
“I promise you, you will not be in control for much longer.” Even stops, just long enough to let his nose press against Isaks, his breath deep and strong as he stares Isak down. Let’s Isak drown in those eyes barely registering the words Even whispers.  
“I’m going to put my mouth where you want it. Trust me, you will lose control."  
“Then make me.” Isak whispers back.

***

“You OK? You look kind of dead.”  
“No, I am ok,” Isak argues with a sigh.  
He’s barely alive, after that blowjob Even pulled out of the hat. Even now after a shower and two cups of coffee, he still feels like a wreck. Long gone are the days when he could have sex for hours and still feel vibrant and alive afterwards. His legs ache, his head is kind of cloudy and his hands kind of shake.  
“I think I need to switch to decaf, I mean two cups and I have the shakes,” he mutters.  
“You just need to walk it off, babe.” Even barely looks up from his book, yet he’s chuckling softly, that little thing he does when Isak is being silly. Stupid. Ridiculous even.  
“I’m not joking, I’ve actually got the shakes.”  
“The power of my mouth. Amazing,” Even says, a dream like expression on his face as Isak throws the wrapper from the muffin at him. Crumbs and all. And a stray chocolate chip.  
“Just go, Isak.” Even smiles at him. “Just go for a few hours, go for a walk, smell the trees, feel the grass. You will feel better afterwards.” His hands are reaching out, massaging Isak’s shoulders lightly.

Isak closes his eyes and leans his head back. “I don’t really want to leave,” he mutters.

He wants to curl up on the couch, stare into nothing, read a book, watch something on TV, surf aimlessly around on his laptop. Not doing anything useful, not having to react to anything, or decide or think or mean. Just listen to the silence and study his own eyelids if anything at all.

Even nods. “I can take everyone for the climbing park,” he offers. “The new, big one that opened last summer, not the one that was destroyed in the forest fire,” he adds. “The kids will love it. And it will force some wildness into David and Matteo, they are too wound up on organizing everything. Or maybe we should go bouldering instead,” he snickers.  
Isak smiles at him. “Don’t be too hard on them. They are city boys.”  
“So are we,” Even protests.  
“We might have grown up in the city, but you have two badass outdoorsy parents, and even mine took me trekking when I was a kid. Andreas has taken these fancy survival classes, I heard Matteo brag about them the other day. They learned how to operate a gas cartridge stove by watching the instructors light one in the yard of the city school where the course was held. The kids weren’t allowed to use open fire themselves since they could get burn wounds. He was completely flabbergasted when Maria and Fredrik gathered wood and lit a fire to grill the hot dogs. Fredrik said he almost freaked out when the smoke drifted towards them, he was worried they’d die from it.”

Isak feels Even’s chest shaking against his back as he is laughing behind him. “Did he have any idea about how to put up the tent?” he jokes.  
“Well, apparently the kids managed to raise it. Even without the pegs they left in the barn,” Isak chuckles.

“Do you remember when we forgot the pegs?” Even changes the rhythm of his massage, rubbing in small circles over Isak’s upper trapezius muscles. “Your neck is stiff,” he mutters.  
“Yes, I clearly remember when _you_ left them,” Isak says, shrugging against the slight discomfort when Even rubs at him.  
“ _You_ were packing the tent,” Even protests.  
“But I told you to bring everything I had lined up on the kitchen table!”  
“It was in the summer and the forecast said 20 degrees at night, Isak. How was I supposed to understand that you actually meant to bring the pile of rain gear and wool clothes from the table?” He is pressing all his fingertips against Isak’s skin, causing a low moan from him.  
“The tent pegs were there.”  
“Under the clothes.”  
“Yes, but I did tell you to bring everything,” Isak protests. “Ouch, not too hard,” he groans.  
“I need to soften your muscles. And we put up the tent anyway.”  
“Yeah, but be careful, please. You don’t want me in bed with a pulled muscle either. And the tent fell down.”  
“Well, that’d be silly of me. You are the grumpiest man I know when you are sick,” Even jokes. “And you bet I remember the tent falling down. It was kind of a mess.” He chuckles again. Isak feels the butterflies in his belly when he feels the shaking behind him, hitting him along the spine and then spreading like a contagious flutter all over him. 

***

He hears the cars leave, the crunching of the wheels against the gravel, the sounds gradually becoming weaker through the forest until it’s quiet and all he can hear is the wind making its low sounds through the trees, the leaves rattling and the birds chirping.

The silence is almost stifling, surrounding him and kind of choking him with the pressure against his eardrums and his skin. But in the end it’s a comfortable kind of pressure, a safe one, making him feel good against the silence, as if it’s holding him down so he can relax.

These past weeks have been nice, much better than he ever anticipated. He had been worried about the vacation when they left home, no use in denying that. Feared the quarreling, the fighting, grumpy kids, grumpy adults. Feared the guests too close, stories about nightmare holiday guests and nosy tourists. Feared the imperfect vacation, all the details that would taint the childhood memories, whether it being the kids’ memories about their own childhood or Even and Isak’s memories about the children. Feared the conversations, the late beers that made them open up, feared sex and intimacy, feared the fear, the truth.

Instead it had been nice. Stressing, sure, and humiliating and awkward, but mostly calming. 

They had made friends, Isak doesn’t remember when was the last time he made genuine friends. Of course he knows a bunch of people around the schools and clubs and sports the kids do, he knows the names of most of the parents, has them on social media, chats with them in the supermarket and over the garden fence. But he has hardly made friends among them, actually he can’t remember making genuine friends since high school. He still has Jonas and Sana, and their spouses, and sometimes Magnus will chime in, and Eskild. He has some colleagues he share a lot of his daily battles with, they would probably meet up for drinks or chats or dinner if he invites them. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t like people, they drain energy. He prefers the people he already knows to be close. The other can _be_ there, it’s nice to not feel alone, but he doesn’t expect them to be there _for him_.

But Matteo may be a new friend. He kind of understands Isak, and Isak feels like he understands Matteo. They have been lying in the grass here for hours, just watching the clouds and discussing the universe. Yesterday they cleared out a bit of the barn, and his mouth felt dry like sandpaper when they were done. Not because of the dust and dirt covering everything there and forcing itself into his nostrils and mouth, but because of the steady stream of words spilling out of him, questions and answers and laughter and giggles, reflected by Matteo who worked at his side, checking boxes, carrying furniture, piling old materials and stuff on the clearing between the barn and the water, for somebody else to take over and make that bonfire at the beach, or more probable, for himself to carry the last metres to the lake.

The silence is nevertheless nice. It’s dark and soft and relaxing, forcing him to hear his heartbeat and his breathing slowing down, resisting the urge to check his pulse on his watch. Instead he just remains there, lying flat on the ground, with the birds chirping between the trees, the cool grass tickling between his fingers, the soil pushing against his back. The force of his body is equal to the counter force from the earth, the thought of the opposite is making him dizzy, he would fall through the sphere, not even being forced up from the core as he would if he dug through it with the current gravity.

All he can do is just lying here, listening and feeling and just being right here, right now, as a therapist might say. Breathing. Listening. Sensing. Feeling himself, the earth, the shade, the air, his body. Trying not to fall asleep. Or not caring about it at all.

Isak wakes up a couple of hours later, dazzled and confused, sweating from basking in the warm sun. The earth has spun another forty or fifty or sixty degrees, and the shadows have moved on to another spot, leaving his own place bright and boiling under the blue sky. He raises up on his elbows, scrunching his forehead against the green house, it’s silent and calm, and for a moment he is wondering where everyone are. He slowly remembers, smiling to himself as he realizes he will be alone for another few hours. 

With some effort he manages to get up, stretching his stiff muscles and shaking his joints. He yawns against the sky, looking around for signs of life, but as far as he knows he is alone. He doesn’t even have a car, he remembers, mentally crossing off the items of his imaginary list he can’t do. Oh well. He’d better get inside and get something to drink, as well as some lunch, unless the others emptied the fridge before they left.

Luckily they didn’t eat all the food. He creates a tall sandwich, smiling at the memory of his father reading Dagwood comics in the newspaper when he was a kid, of himself dreaming of the tall sandwiches, but he never got more than two slices of bread and hardly any extra cheese and ham to fill it, at least he could stuff it with cucumber and thick slices of tomato. His sandwich tower collapses when he tries to cut the first piece, just like it did when he was a kid. Another memory to smile at, he thinks as he chews on the soft bread and pieces of sharp cheese and smoked ham.

A loud ring sound and the sound of his phone vibrating against the tabletop brings him out again. He has already raised the phone towards his ear when he realizes it’s Daniel from work calling, not Even or the kids. A heavy lump forms in his stomach, but he can’t stop the movement and automatically answers the call with his posh, academic voice.  
“Valtersen.”  
“Hi Isak. It’s Daniel. How is your vacation going?” Direct as always.  
“Well, fine…” Isak senses from Daniel’s voice that there is something.  
“Good, good… Listen, Isak, I hate to disturb you. But Annika is eight time zones away with her kids, and Rao is with his parents somewhere in the Chinese countryside, I tried to call him, but the phone just went to voicemail.  
“He has left his phone at home,” Isak mutters. “That’s what you do when you go there.”  
“What?”  
“He has a local subscription there. I have his number, do you want it?”  
“Huh? No thanks, no need, I think. Not if you can help me?”  
Isak sighs. “Ok. Shoot.”  
“Ok, great. Listen, I just need you to...”

Daniel starts his flow of words and questions. He is finishing a research fund application and needs help from Isak for some mundane task not really related to the application. Isak hates this kind of stuff, he didn’t become a scientist to do secretary work. Not that there is anything wrong with secretary work, but that’s what they have secretaries for, isn’t it?

“Daniel, listen. Can’t you ask…” He pauses. He doesn’t think there is anyone there to ask, not when Annika and Rao are also gone, and the rest of the building is probably vacation deserted, too. “Ok,” he sighs. “I can have a look, did you share it with me already?”  
“Yes, yes!” Daniel sounds happy in the other end.  
“Give me half an hour,” Isak grumps. He can drive towards the village, it’s only fifteen minutes to the place where the coverage is god enough for some simple work, he has sneaked there alone sometimes when the urge to check on the world has been too tough.  
He glances at his watch. It’s noon, the deadline is probably at midnight, so Daniel should have plenty of time to finish it. And to bother him about it, he adds sourly.

Daniel is the department’s newest assistant professor. Bright guy, solid degrees, tall and pale, it sometimes looks like he hasn’t seen the sun for weeks. In the beginning Isak was tempted to remind him to go out after dinner, get some sun, work a tan, but apparently he just has pale skin. Turned out he is doing triathlons and spends most afternoons outside. 

The work he has done on the application is solid. The scientific part is gathered from the entire department, Isak’s own polar climate project is the core of it, Daniel will assist. Isak smiles, he did a lot of ground work in Svalbard himself decades ago, and the institute has continued its work in the north continuously since then. Daniel has spent time there since he was a master degree student, and there is no doubt he pictures himself going there again. 

With a frown Isak searches for the travel grant part of the application. His heart sinks when he sees his own name and project there, he somehow knew it, but he had hoped that he wasn’t expected to go there himself. It feels like his tummy is scrunching when he reads the comments, he is expected to be expedition lead again after many years on the mainland, he will be promoted again to cover it all. “I guess the kids are old enough for you to leave them for a few months now.” Bloody Daniel, he thinks, until he realizes the comment isn’t from Daniel, but from the department head.

He starts pacing the gravel outside the car in distress. His heartbeat increases and he breathes faster, anger is boiling in him, and the dark feelings are sliding in again. He doesn’t want this! He doesn’t want to leave Maria and Fredrik even if they are “old enough” for it, not when a childless bastard tells him to, he doesn’t want to leave Even. And he certainly doesn’t want to leave Even alone with Maria and Fredrik for months, he doesn’t deserve that, even when some solitude is tempting, but not for months, they must be morons!

He adds a comment to the document about how unacceptable this expected change of tasks and responsibility is, in addition to sending it off in an email to the department head, adding that he is currently on vacation and will not do any more work until he is back at work in a couple of weeks. Then he closes his computer, not intending to do any more work, before driving furiously back towards the cabin.

The phone chimes just a few minutes later. It’s the department head, and he ignores it. Then Daniel calls as he turns to a halt in front of the house, and he answers. “I am sorry, Isak, I didn’t know you didn’t want to. It was the department head, she…”  
Isak abrupts him. “Yeah, whatever, I am not going up there again,” he says with force while slamming the car door. “At least not for more than a few days here and there to oversee the work,” he adds in a softer voice, knowing that Daniel is just the messenger here. “But listen, Daniel. Call the department head if you need more help now. I have skimmed your work, it’s good work, solid, it’s just the demands for my physical presence I can’t accept. Let the department deal with that, call them if you need more help. They have to make sure we have enough resources to write this application anyway, and I am off for vacation now.”

He walks towards the garden after hanging up, tries to calm down, make his brain spin slower, lower his shoulders, tries to relax, but he is still angry an hour later. It’s kind of a betrayal, he thinks, he kind of mention for the department head that he wanted to slow down a bit when they talked before summer, and she was understanding and said she’d see what she could do. And now she has done the opposite, and locked him in with this bloody project.

He sits down in a stray plastic chair someone has placed under the oak at the edge of the garden, right next to the slope towards the forest, where the path down to the lake starts. Resting his elbows on his knees he is looking across the lake. It’s beautiful here. Calm. Silent. He watches the glitter in the mild wind forming tiny waves on the surface of the water. It looks nice. Light. Optimistic. Happy.

He smiles at the memories. Swimming with the Germans. With the kids. Walking on the beach. Working in the garden. Cooking. 

Even has been cooking every day recently, making his own small specialities for breakfast, lunch, dinner, they have all stepped in to help, or to actually lead the cooking, but he has been mixing, beating, whipping, flipping, doing all those things that Isak loves watching him do, bringing back memories from when he had time to watch him, time to sit laughing and doing nothing while Even worked. 

And the kids have seemed happy, too. Careless, freerunning, doing their things, not being angry or complaining about being bored. And it’s not only the Germans either, Andreas has hung out with his dads doing whatever without Maria and Fredrik complaining.

It’s like they have grown into this place, found their space, like the place is shaping around they while they just sit her doing nothing.

His phone beeps with an incoming message. He glances at it, it’s from her, and he doesn’t want to read it, yet he still sees it before the screen gets black. “I am sorry you feel like this. Maybe it would be easier to bring your family and spend the year there?” 

He bangs his head back in frustration while blowing air between his lips. He closes his stinging eyes, feeling the wetness against his cheek.

He is exhausted. The academic life is good, he loves research and science, but the politics, and the pressure from others is sometimes unbearable. The head’s urge to send him to Svalbard is for sure not just for scientific reasons, she has an agenda here, but he isn’t able to derive what it is. 

Maybe he should just skip it. Jump off a cliff, metaphorically speaking. Ditch his career, stop publishing, no longer aim to be invited to the most prestigious conferences, no more international panels, specially invited speaker, no more of these stressful travels that add up even if they are short. 

Step back. Chill out. Stress down. Get another job, one outside of academia, just say that 25 years is enough, become a high school teacher, like David was, he remembers his own teachers, how they shaped him, how he can do an even better job, maybe he can see someone, be the one for someone. Not just cope with nerdy students who thinks they are smarter than other people just because they got an A in Physics. Being a nerd himself doesn’t make them easier to deal with, he sighs.

It would probably be good for Even, too, and the kids. They could share the responsibility more evenly, not only during the weeks he isn’t super busy, but all the time. Common meals, leave the house for dinners downtown, movies, drinks. He smiles and shakes his head, no use in overdreaming now, but the thought of doing nice things with Even is tempting.

The thought of food makes him hungry. He gets up and puts the chair back by the deck before walking into the kitchen.

It’s surprisingly clean inside. He gets up and takes the kitchen towels and the dishrag to throw them into the washing machine before putting it on, then he walks upstairs to check the bedrooms. The twins’ rooms are overflowing. Their clothes are scattered on the floor, over chairs, on the beds, basically everywhere but in the closet, he sighs. He picks up a pair of socks from Maria’s floor before letting them go again, they should tidy their rooms and do their own laundry, he thinks.

Their own room is slightly better. The pillows are shaken and the duvet pulled back to air the mattress, so he makes the bed properly now. He feels a tickling between his legs as he tidies his night stand and notices the lube in the drawer on his side of the bed. He throws himself face down on the bed and sniffs the weak smells from the linen, a waft of green apples, mixed with sweat, semen, himself, Even. 

He stretches his arm and picks up the black t-shirt lying crumbled on the floor on the opposite side of the bed, and drowns his face into it. The smell is strong, of detergent, of lime and peppermint soap, the sharp odor of sweat, he pushes the armpits of the shirt against his nostrils to get the most intense smell. 

It goes straight to the brain, he can imagine everything, vivid pictures, Even in this tight, black shirt, his belly showing when he is stretching, his hairy armpits, his smile, his movements when he slips it off, his arms around Isak, his breath, the sounds, smells, the moan when he splattered warm and wet over Isaks stomach, a quickie this morning, the two of them messing around quietly in bed, under the sheets, until they heard the door slam and the kids running off towards the lake, or the cabin or the forest or whatever, they were lost for the world for a few minutes then, loud and messy, not caring about anything but themselves. It was like back to the future, getting eachother off as if it was the only thing mattering, and for a while it maybe was.

Isak is hard again, the smell of the t-shirt and the memories about their morning has made him move his hips in rhythmic movements against the bed, his buttocks contracting and pushing the bulge towards the clothes between himself and the mattress. His hand slides down along his belly, he smiles as he feels his own skin against his finger tips, unbuttons the shorts and pulls the boxer slightly down as he turns around to free himself. The air is cool against the wet tip, with a moan he lets his fingers hug the smooth skin and start sliding up and down, the thumb rubbing the clear liquid across the head.

With shaky hands he grabs his phone and unlocks it with his thumb, for once security is easy. He finds his latest conversation with Even.  
_“Guess what I am doing?”_  
The reply comes just a few seconds later, and he lets his fingers tickle his balls while he reads it, he wants to keep this going for a while more. _“Isak! I am with the kids!”_  
He smiles. _“How did you guess?”_ he types.  
_“I know what you are doing when you ask me that question.”_  
_“So what am I doing?”_  
_“Are you painting the house?”_  
_“Not the house._ ” He chuckles to himself. _“Soon my fingers.”_

He puts the camera in selfie mode, considering taking one of his dick, but aims for his face in stead, half closed lids, wet lips, open mouth, classic fuck face, he knows it.  
_“Wish you were here,”_ he adds.

_“I am climbing here! Doing zip line with a semi is a pain in the ass.”_  
A few seconds later the follow up arrives. _“Or in the dick. I will make sure you get pain in your ass when I get home.”_

Isak shivers. _“What will you do?”_

_“Sorry, just have to leave that for your own imagination right now.”_ A minute later another message comes in. _“Change of plans. Open the drawer on my side. In the corner behind the books there is a small bag. Open it.”_

It’s like a quest, and he does as he is told. He already knows the object when he feels it through the soft fabric. Its smooth silver metal, short and thick, almost cylindrical above the base, long enough to just touch his prostate, wide enough to make him force himself mentally to keep his legs together when it is inside him.

He knows what comes next now.

_“Don’t heat it. Don’t prep yourself. Don’t add lube. Just push it inside. It will hurt you so good, baby.”_

With shaking hands Isak does like Even says. Takes the plug from the bag, holds it between his fingers, spreads his legs, bends his knees and lifts his hips slightly while pushing it in. He groans as he forces it through the sphincter, relaxes as it glides in, he is still slightly open after Even fingered him this morning, 

It hurts when he presses it inside, but the pain is soon replaced by pleasure. He grips his dick and starts moving again, he knows he will come soon, his muscles are contracting, and his movements intensifies until everything becomes a blur.

_“I know what you did now, but just leave the plug there until I am home.”_

He already knows he is fucked.

An hour later he wakes. He lies still listening to the sounds outside the room, wondering if something or someone woke him up. But all he can hear are the birds and the wind from the forest. No voices, no car doors slamming, no steps in the stairs. His shorts are in a pile next to the bed, and his boxers in a sad mess around his ankles. The skin on his belly is icky, and he is lying in a wet pool on the bed. With a smile he sits up and pulls up his clothes. He should take a shower and change the linen, he thinks, when the movement yields a sharp pain in his ass. He can’t stop the groan leaving his mouth, and inevitably he forces the plug further up with a contraction in his buttocks. The tip barely touches his prostate and leaves a tingling feeling inside him. He carefully gets up and walks to the bathroom, the hard metal is grinding against his skin as he walks, a pleasant feeling of something secret.

His hair is still wet when he walks downstairs to start dinner. He is hungry, maybe he should make something easy, he thinks. They have zucchini, onions, carrots, bell pepper, cheese, milk… he opens the cupboards to check for dry ingredients and finds cans of tomatoes, pasta. He looks behind them, they have lasagna sheets as well. As he sees them the dinner is set, lasagna is it. He will just make it fast, slice the veggies, don’t bother frying them, just throw them into the pot with loads of tomatoes and let it boil for an hour or so, then make bechamel sauce and layer everything with the sheets before baking it for another hour. The lasagna itself is sturdy, he use to add cheese towards the end so it doesn’t get burnt, it’s a convenient dish when he doesn’t really know when he’ll serve dinner.

The hunt for food has made him hungry. They are out of bread, he should text Even and get him to buy some, or make him bake. No yoghurt either, and he doesn’t want crispbread. He grabs egg, milk and butter from the fridge, and flour from the cupboards, and starts making waffles. With a shrug he decides to make a big portion, fuck conventions, they should all have waffles before dinner, he decides.

The twins are are having a blast as they leave the car and realizes where the smell is coming from. Isak is making them on the patio, and the smell is drifting towards the driveway. He hands them waffles with jam, and just shrugs when Even asks if they shouldn’t have dinner first, all while stuffing warm waffles with butter and cheese into his mouth.  
“So you have time to wait until after both waffles and dinner,” he half-whispers with a smile.

Isak winks at him while tightening his buttocks, feeling the weight of the plug as it slides slightly further inside. He lets his hand slide discreetly from the belly down towards the thigh, only just touching the contour in front of his cargo shorts. Even swallows in front of him, before his face splits up in a broad smile.

The dinner is unbelievably long. They all eat together, it has kind of become a habit, the double household, cooking for nine isn’t that much more work than for four or five once you get a hold of the portion sizes, which are off anyway when both families are feeding teenagers. So they usually triple a normal family portion, and the amount of leftovers is manageable. Again, with teenagers.

Isak shivers as Even slides his leg along his during dinner, slowly up and down, steady pace. Isak is just waiting for his hand, or a finger, or something more, but it doesn’t come. Instead he gets Even’s cheeky smile and the continuous movement of his foot against his skin.

By the time it is almost nine in the evening, Isak is exhausted. Weary and sore and kind of pissed off. He took the damn plug out earlier, and chucked it carelessly on top of the bathroom cabinet. No doubt he will forget about it and find it next summer, covered in dust and mysterious growths of bacteria. He doesn’t really care though, his mind dulled by a few bottles of good beer and the kids stories of climbing and the ‘worst bruise of the day’ competition. 

And he barely has any sympathy for Even and his bruised hip, where the skin has turned a nice shade of purple around the angry red scratches further down his leg.  
“They made me do the zipline twice and I crash landed both times. I mean, the zipline has this curve at the end, where you kind of swing sideways and you have to hit the ground running, otherwise you just kind of hip-flop onto your side. Bloody difficult to get right.”  
Even is stark naked on his side, his hair wet from the shower and the towel carelessly flung on the floor.

“That’s our last clean towel,” Isak whines, picking up the sodden piece of fabric and trying to find a dry corner to wipe his face with.  
“I’ll do laundry tomorrow. I kind of forgot yesterday, and today, well. Whatever.”  
“I’ll go and hang up your towel then? Shall I?” Isak sulks, stomping his way back into the bathroom, taking longer than probably needed to hang the towel back up. Perfectly folded so there is hope that it will have dried a little by the next morning.  
“Babe?” Even calls.  
“What?” Isak snarls as he shuffles back into the bedroom, his boxers on and grabbing the shirt he usually sleeps in from the pile of clothes on the floor.  
“You won’t need that.” Even says, his voice low.  
“Whatever.” Isak mutters, and sits himself down on the edge of the bed.  
“Because I am about to fuck you sensless,” Even whispers, crawling up behind his back. Letting a warm hand smooth away the shirt from his back, as Isak kind of rips it back down.  
“You left me with that bloody plug for hours. That wasn’t nice,” he mutters.  
“Sorry. But I couldn’t just whisk you away in the middle of dinner, could I?”  
“You could have? You could have made up an excuse? I’ve been horny all day and now? I’m not.”  
“Babe.” Even is smiling, Isak can tell, even behind his back. His cheeks rubbing against this neck, and his mouth kissing little wet spots into his shoulder, where the shirt is being pulled to the side. And over his head. And it’s amazing how little willpower Isak has when It comes to this husband of his. The man that can make him angry one second, and whimpering like a little kid the next. 

Because Even knows full well the impact that this little display of affection has. The dirty talk that is now coming out of his mouth at full speed. Words that still make Isak blush when he hears them, and his body squirms under the assault of Even’s hands. His fingers, his mouth.

Isak hadn’t even noticed Even’s hand fisting around his cock, the warm fingers coated with just enough lube to give that sweet slide, skin against skin as Isak’s hole twitches with anticipation. 

Yeah, lube is good. Prep is good. But when Even gets all hot and horny and kind of dirtytalks Isak into letting him be all domineering and hard and, well. He makes Isak hurt. Hurt so good, in the best way possible. He makes Isak squirm and beg and plead and, yeah. Isak is a slut. He’s a fucking cockslut when it comes to this side of Even, the one who suddenly has Isak face down on the bed, spreading his arse open with his own fingers whilst his mouth is spilling out words and demands and please and yeah. 

Even makes good on his promises. And Isak falls asleep drooling into his pillow, his arse stinging with pleasure and sweat and that kind of well fucked feeling that he will no doubt regret tomorrow. But for now? Even’s arm is heavy over his back and the light in the hallway is still on and fuck knows if they locked the front door. 

It doesn’t even matter.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, eh. Research grants, huh? Sexy stuff, and what great plans they have for Isak's future! Another trip to Svalbard would be great? (To my Norwegian-reading readers: I am not quite sure this Isak was almost eaten by a polar bear , but at least he was at Svalbard some 20 years ago, maybe in a slightly paralell universe.)  
> And ziplines, waffles, pegs and plugs? "Care to elaborate, authors" - or not?
> 
> And as always, thanks for your comments! Sorry about the slight delay for this chapter. I (in this case the coward pagni) didn't want to post until I had my next chapter off my shoulders. The good thing is therefore that I now have a plan for my next chapter :) (We have no idea how many more chapters there will be. More than two is not a bad bet, though.)


	25. David

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David is on solid ground, and Even makes some great discoveries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the brilliantly fun part of co-writing, when we cliff hanger each other with no clue where the other person will take the story. I had my mind made up what was going on here, and Pagni of course cackled loudly at me and threw me for a loop. So here we are. Enjoy!

Yesterday had been the hottest day yet, the sun burning bright in the sky, hour after hour of the children moaning inside the house, and moaning even louder outside. The last couple of days have passed too fast, each day blending effortlessly into one another. They have swum in the lake and hosed the kids down with the garden hose, droplets of ice cold water making them scream and laugh in the scorching sun. Then of course a film on the laptop and ice cream and finally hotdogs by the lake. Family dinners lounging on the veranda at Even and Isak’s house, and picnics in the garden. It’s been bliss. Calm. Relaxed. 

It had been a good day, relaxing when it was too hot to do any actual work. Today though, the cool air is a blessing and the children have once again disappeared with Isak in search of the dreaded  _ Wild boar of Henriksvik _ . Well that, and the promise of seeing newborn kittens over by the farm, and according to Even, Isak wants to check out the neighbours. 

And David feels good. It’s like life has finally slowed down enough for him to catch up. His feet feel solid on the ground. His mind is at peace. He’s even got a plan, a hastily scribbled down on a piece of paper plan, but at least it’s there. 

“I’ve made a plan,” he says to Even, who comes out of the open barn door, carrying another box of dusty books. They have taken turns cleaning out the barn, sorting and stacking and piling stuff. It seems to be enough there for a lifetime.

“Plans are good,” Even says, dropping the box with a heavy thud on the ground. “As long as it’s something small and achievable. Remember we agreed not to overwhelm ourselves.”

“It’s achievable. I’m going to hand my notice in at the gym, because it only brings negative energy, and then it will give me the push I need to apply for teaching jobs. Even if it’s just an assistant job or part time, I mean, a maternity cover contract would be brilliant, just so I can get my head back in the game.”

“Won’t the time frame stress you out?” Even frowns and pulls his shirt over his head, using the fabric to wipe his forehead. 

“It will, but in a good way. It won’t give me time to mope around and feel sorry for myself. I work better with a set timeframe.” 

“Just as long as that will work for you.” 

“I think it will, getting the gym job off my back will give me a break. I think I will be happier not having to go back there, despite the workouts being good. And the free gym membership. Not that it matters, we have a good gym in the neighbourhood, I just have to join one when I am back working.”

“Wifi would have been good here, we could have sat down and gone over the ads, looked for openings.”

“Nope. I’m still on holiday, not doing more work whilst we’re here.” David smiles, as he heads back into the barn to retrieve another dusty box. 

Boxes, there are hundreds of bags and boxes of folders and papers, stacks of heavily read romance books, next to what is obviously textbooks and encyclopedias. This auntie Bella was a reader, that’s for sure.

“We need to burn them,” Even says, voice sounding a little bit distraught. David knows. He loves his books too, and the thought of burning this, this life of reading. The stories someone obviously loved too much to let go of. But Even is right. 

“They are damp and there is mould,” David sighs. 

“I know. The paperbacks are useless, and these big ones are all hopelessly out of date. We can’t keep it all. Burning it all is the most sane thing. Loading it up in the car would take hours of driving back and forth to the recycling center, and the cars would get filthy with all the dust.”

“Just burn it, Even. These are not your memories to preserve.”

It sounds cold, but David knows. He knows the pressure from his own parents to keep everything, to hord memories built into things that carry nothing but dust. He barely remembers half the things his mother so fondly talks about. The precious items she stores on her shelves mean nothing to him. Yet she keeps reminding him, that one day he must remember these things. Carry her memories. Tell the children all the things she finds so important to share. 

He has very little to share. Just himself. His love and his bond with the little family that keep him sane. He sometimes wonders what would have happened to him had he not met Matteo. The sheer thought fills him with fear. A fear so strong that he can barely breathe.

“You OK?” Even says as another box hits the ground with a thud. 

“Yeah. Just irrational fear. Parenting fear. Me not being enough fear. You know. Normal shit.”

Even just nods. They both know. Normal shit. Normal shit that normal people perhaps just shrug off. Normal thoughts that become monsters in your head. Normal fears that become mountains. Normal. It’s all normal.

He sits down and mindlessly picks up a folder from the box nearest to him. The cardboard cover splattered with dark growths of mould and a thick layer of dust that makes him sneeze into the cool air. 

“Even?” he calls. “Did Bella write novels?”

“ _ Jag känner mig inte som mig själv _ .” He reads out loud. “ _ Jag förstår inte vem det är jag ska vara längre _ .” David doesn’t understand a single word, and his pronunciation is probably all wrong.

“I don’t know?” Even says and plants himself on the ground next to him. “I think she wrote newspaper articles sometimes, like the ones you wrote and sent in to the paper, you know like a readers column?”

“This looks kind of interesting despite the fact that I can’t read it, but it’s like a novel but there are no chapters.” David flicks the pages back and forth. It’s all handwritten in what must be Bellas signature swirly script, but the sentences jump back and forth, passages crossed out like she is arguing with herself. 

“ _ Not being who I feel I should be _ .” Even reads out loud. “ _ The expectations are unclear _ .” 

He sighs, shaking his head. “It’s in Swedish, but that’s the basic translation.”

“Okay," David responds. “And this part?”

“There are mentions of an Erik, and she is definitely in love with him. Adores him. And

look at this.” Even’s fingers point at a passage and his voice reads out the words to the quiet space.

_ “Sometimes I wish I could be all alone in the garden, with the knowledge that nobody would disturb my peace. I would wander through the grass, my naked feet touching everything beneath me. The skin on my body free to the elements, my breasts no longer confined to the prisons that society pushes upon us.” _

“Go Bella.” David laughs. “So she wanted to be naked and free. Good for her.” 

Even flicks the pages forwards, looking for more. The tip of his tongue sticking out of his mouth as his eyes scan the pages.

_ “He was so gentle with me, his fingers touching my skin like the softest feathers. Like he was afraid I would break under his touch. I told him I wouldn’t break. I told him I was stronger than he thought I was, and that I was sure. And god help me I was so sure. I still am. I am so pleased I carried this through, because no woman should live a life afraid of the unknown. No woman should have to carry the guilt of knowing what her body can do, and that what is a beautiful and life changing experience is pushed away like it’s a sin. Because what Erik and I did was no sin. It was sweet and tender and my arousal knew no limits once he removed his clothes. I knew I would find him attractive, I had seen his naked torso enough times working the land, his strong chest, the veins on his neck and the shapes of his arms. I had known, oh how I had known.” _

“How old do you think she was here? In her late teens? She sounds older?” 

“There is no date, perhaps this is a diary? Maybe she wrote down the things the experienced? Is there more?” 

David grabs a few more folders out of the box, all the same type filled with Bella’s words, as Evens steady words pierce the silence. 

_ “He cried himself to sleep in my arms, his naked chest against mine. We had made love here before, but this time it was different. He loved me, I had no doubt about his feelings towards me, none whatsoever. His mouth was bruising my skin as the blanket beneath me felt like it was shredding my body into a million small shards of the person I used to be. His movements brutal, as he tossed my legs over his shoulders and pushed inside of me. He ravaged my skin with his touch, like he was scared that he would never feel me again. I whispered words of comfort to him, trying to ground him back into the place where we were just us, the two of us joined as one. Because despite his despair and the dark place his head was in, I would always be there for him. I would hold him at night when his world was at its darkest. I would carry the weight of him when his body couldn't hold him up. I would love him through these times, because without him? What would I do? You don’t choose whom your heart will love, and my heart is all for him. I will love this broken man until the day that I die. I will carry him with me always, because I am his and he is mine. I told him this as his body slumped over mine, as his lips took mine in the sweetest kiss. I love him, and that is all that matters. Then he cried, and oh how he cried, this broken man of mine. “ _

“All I know is that she never married, but if this is her diary, then at least she loved someone.”

“She was definitely in love with this Erik whomever he was. He sounds like a dick, being all brutal with her.”

“Or maybe he wasn’t? Maybe he was, you know, just like me? She says his head was in a dark place, and perhaps he wasn’t well. Maybe he thought he wasn’t good enough for her, perhaps he was really poor, and she says he worked the farm. Perhaps he had someone else? Oh god, you know what we have to do, don’t you?” Even laughs nervously. 

“Yes.” David sighs. “We’re going to have to read this now, don’t you think? Find out what happened to this Erik dude and if he broke Bella’s heart.”

“God help him.” Even smiles. “I barely remember her, I know she kept in touch with my Mum, so she knew a bit about me, but I still never knew why she gave me this place. I need to ask Mum, see if she remembers. It just didn’t make sense at the time. There are other cousins, and lots of closer relatives, yet she chose me. It was, you know, kind of weird. A few of Mum’s brothers grumbled about it as this place not being sold off and the profits divided. But Bella was adamant in her will that the entire farm would go to me.”

“Then there was a reason, and perhaps we kind of owe Bella to find out. She wrote this, and perhaps it’s all just made up stories that she wrote for entertainment, but if it’s true? Then at least you would know something about her background. Who she was. You know?” 

David would lie if he didn’t feel a little bit excited. Like a mystery to solve. Yet in the back of his mind, it’s just another little tie to this place, a place owned by strangers who he will probably never see again. The chance that they will come back here again is slim, because no doubt next year Matteo will have come up with another of his master plans and they will be holidaying on Iceland visiting hot springs and climbing volcanoes or something equally ridiculous. He knows Matteo, and wouldn’t put anything past him. He should step away and leave this to Even to figure out, it’s not his Auntie Bella and not his…

“It’s weird that there was never any mention of Erik. You said she was never married, and I doubt she was living with him, not then, not here.” David looks around, as if the farm could give any answers.

“Erik died in the 80ies,” Even suddenly says. “I found his death certificate.” He starts digging through one of the already sorted boxes in the keep-area. “And a note from Bella, just a few lines. I wonder what order these papers are in, if any, damned that she didn’t date them.” 

David pats Even’s shoulder. “Ok, let’s go through these and get them in order and then we will make a pot of coffee and see if we can make sense of this story. This is the first one, where she wonders who she is supposed to be, when the expectations are so unclear. I think. Or maybe it’s the last? It was on the top, anyway.”

“She talks about Henrik here. Someone called Henrik Arvidsson...”

“I’ll go get the coffee,” David laughs. “Because I can see you won’t be moving from here for a while.”

“Can you bring some deckchairs?” Even calls out and David just smiles. 

They decided to stay a few more days and David never wants this holiday to end. They could stay a bit longer. An additional couple of more days perhaps. They talked about it, and Isak apparently begged. Andreas is moping about saying he doesn’t want to leave yet and the twins? They are having a ball. Matteo needs to get back to work, and if that wasn’t the main problem David would be asking around about getting the kids into school here so he could just hide away in his own little piece of paradise forever. But life doesn’t work like that. 

So, he loads the coffeemaker and pulls his shirt off his chest as the sun peeks out between the clouds. The deckchairs nicely lined up in front of a mountain of boxes piled up on the grass, as Even clumsily climbs into one, letting the folder in his hands settle on his lap.

“The bastard!” Even mutters. “That scheming fucking bastard.”


	26. Even

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David and Even continues the quest through Bella's diaries and stuff in the barn.

Even and David spend the afternoon reading Bella’s old diaries. It kind of feels too intimate and too close, to read somebody else’s diary, but, as David says, she had plenty of time to get rid of them if she didn’t want anyone to find them in the barn. They were not really hidden, not if you don’t count boxes and boxes of books, and Bella was apparently sound and healthy until her heart suddenly stopped. And even more important, she had willingly left this farm to Even, with everything she knew it contained.

So Even concludes that this is ok, that it was maybe even something she wanted, for him to find these diaries and read them.

They first dig into the boxes to try to sort the books in order. Some of the books have dates, they are the diaries, others have no indications of when they are written. These are freer texts, like fiction, or perhaps facts, Even isn’t sure if it’s biographic or not. Piece by piece they find all the diaries, they seem to cover the period from 1953, when Bella was ten years old, until 1989. 

“Wow. This is amazing,” David says looking at the pile in front of them. “The diaries seem to be complete, like there are no holes.” He has been flapping through the books while sorting them, and since he doesn’t understand the words he has concentrated on the dates. “You should really not burn these, Even. At least donate them to an archive, I bet they will be thrilled. It’s like a memory capsule, just covering 35 years.”

Even nods distracted. He has been reading pages here and there, but is so enthralled by the her stories that he has hardly gotten through an entire one of them. “Yeah, I won’t burn these, I think. Not unless they should really not be shared. But I agree, I kind of doubt she’d have left them here if she didn’t intend me to have them. Or read them.”

It turns out to be her life story.

An upper class girl growing up in the Swedish countryside post-world war two, a traditional upbringing and youth in the family farm, with farm hands and a couple of maids. She went to school, finished high school in a nearby town, then took correspondence classes in book keeping and secretary work. She wanted to leave, dreamed about Stockholm, but her family kept her here, her mother was sick and didn’t want her to leave.

And then it was Erik. Son of one of the farm hands, himself working at another farm. The distant boy who got closer and closer, but whom her parents wanted her to stay away from. And who wanted a better man for her.

_ “I want it so much, a future with him, a life with him It doesn’t matter that he isn’t rich, that he can’t give me the life my mother dreams of for me. All that would matter is to have him. But he has decided again and again that it can’t be us, that he will be too much, that I deserve more. Why can’t he let me decide for myself? Why do all men imagine women as fragile, as a thin straw that will break from a little resistance? I love him, and he loves me, why can’t he also give me a try?” _

He writing is scrawny and almost unreadable at the end of the phrase. It’s the words of a frustrated teenager, they seem to be written in 1962, when Bella was 19.

_ “He left me. He just left. The past weeks have been horrible, everyone has been so busy with the harvest, nobody seems to care for him. I talked briefly to his father, he didn’t want to tell me anything and was furious when I asked if they had reported him missing to the police. Nobody wants the insane one, he said. I tried to ask the police officer about him when I was in town the other day, but he just laughed at me and said they wouldn’t take a report from a woman who wasn’t even married to him. And if his father didn’t want to report him missing, it was probably for the best. (...) I have heard rumors about him being sent to Marieberg, to the ward for the utterly insane. But nobody will tell me anything. They just stop talking when I get close.” _

It wasn’t until a week later she wrote again.  _ “I finally talked to Henrik. He said Erik has left. He has gone to Göteborg, he wanted to get hired as a seaman.” _

“So Henrik knew both her and Erik? Who is he actually?” David asks.

Even nods. “Yeah. And at first he seems nice. She describes him as a friend of herself and Erik, they seem to hang out a lot as teenagers. He seems to be into photography, she writes about photo sessions they have had.”

“Maybe his photos are gathered in a box somewhere?” David asks and looks at the boxes.

“I doubt it,” Even says. “He is not a good man, I would have burned every memory after him if I was her. Anyhow, first they were friends, she had no feelings for him, and it doesn’t look like she felt he had for her either. He was just a friend. Her parents liked him, I bet he was of good family then.”

_ “I finally got a letter from him. He thanked me for everything, and said he loved me, but that he can’t let me live with the burden he is so he is leaving so I can be free and so he can be free. But I don’t want to be free, nor am I free without him! Now it’s like I am tied to someone I can never have, so now I can never be free.” _

For the days and weeks after she is still sad and frustrated, her moods seem to vary a bit, but far from the unhealthy swings of himself, Even thinks.  _ “I only sleep, work and eat. Every day are the same. What’s the use in this?” _

“She’s skipped a few months here, where she must have been depressed. Then she’s back, and seems stronger. Listen to this?” Even shuffles in his seat.

_ “Henrik asked me to come to the autumn party tomorrow. I don’t know, I don’t really want to. But my mum is on me, she doesn’t want me just moping around here. Maybe it’ll get her off my back for a while if I just go. And she will be delighted if I go with Henrik, she loves him.” _

“Blimey.” David sighs. “I hope she didn’t have sex with him.”

“She did.” Even laughs. “See?” He points at a passage and keeps reading: 

_ “I had sex with Henrik yesterday. I don’t know why I did it. I was drunk, but not that drunk, he didn’t force me. But I was far from Erik. It hurt, he was so fast. Not the slow movements of Erik, no fingers, not the touches I still feel tingling at my skin when I think of it. I bathed in vinegar when I woke up. It hurts, but I have heard it’s effective.” _

“Then a few days after that, she writes this.” 

_ “Henrik came her late yesterday. He was drunk. He told me he has received several letters from Erik, and that Erik doesn’t love me anymore. I regret sleeping with him.” _

Even is feeling all flustered, shifting back and forth in the seat, as David lets his hand fall on his arm, as to calm him. 

“Then this shit happens. It makes me boil just reading it, listen David, just listen to this! “ 

_ “I think I may be expecting. I haven’t had that time of month for a long time. I am so tired and sick all the time. Can hardly smell anything without retching. Faen.” _

“Oh shit,” David says. “I can relate! So she has a kid then?” he adds. “No, then you wouldn’t have had the farm, or what?”   
  


Even reads on for a few minutes. “It doesn’t look like that,” he says. “She had an abortion. Sounds like it was pretty tough.  _ “I went to see the doctor today. He confirmed the pregnancy. His hands were so cold, inside me and outside me. I asked if he could terminate it, but he couldn’t. He said I had to apply for it, to give a good reason, and that I should hurry up before I was getting too far along. But he doubts I will get an abortion, because I don’t fullfill the criteria. I am healthy, my parents have money, I could marry Henrik etc etc. The doctor also knows someone, but that’s another doctor in Stockholm and I don’t know how to get there again. The train trip already ate most of my funds, and I don’t know what excuses to use. I told my parents I had to see a doctor in Örebro today, if I say that again they may drive me. Maybe there is someone around here, but I don’t know, if I just dared to confess to Kajsa or Maja... _ ”

He reads on. “This is two weeks later.  _ I went to the doctor in Stockholm today _ . She describes it vividly, in detail, all the smells and the pain, I don’t really want to read it…” He looks at David, who waves him off. “No, just skip it, but I guess Matteo will be interested. He says there are so many sad stories about women undergoing unwanted pregnancies or trying to avoid them, and he reads them to get an understanding of if their practices and procedures were unnecessary tough.”

_ “Henrik drove me. He said almost nothing in the car, just smoked until I had to ask him to stop because I got so sick.” _

Even turns the pages back again. “But listen to this, it’s the day after she went to the doctor.  _ Today I talked to Henrik. I wanted to tell him about his child, hoping that he might help me find a solution. _ She has written a lot about her different options,” he adds. “Apparently she could face being a solo mum, but she needed money. So there are many pages discussing her options. Living in some mothers’ home until birth, then adopt it or find foster parents, or simply give birth to it and face the consequences. But listen to what she writes about Henrik. He is really a bastard!”

_ “He first asked if anybody else could be the father, but I denied. Then he shook his head and said it was naïve of me to think he wanted anything to do with the baby. He is planning to go to college next year, he wants to be an engineer, he can get away from this place. Then his eyes glistened. ‘Unless you love me and will marry me’, he said. I cried and said he knows it’s not him I love, that I still love Erik. ‘You have to write Erik a letter, too, saying you don’t love him.’ He knows Erik’s address! He just laughed when I begged him for it.” _

_ “He said he could give me money for the abortion, and drive me to Stockholm. I know it’s just to make sure I spend the money for the abortion, but I don’t care. I hate Henrik so much now. I don’t want his money either, but I don’t have any other options.” _

“The bastard practically forced her to get the abortion!” David shouts. “What an Arschloch!”

“Yes, definitely,” Even nods. “He didn’t even accompany her. He just drove her to the residential area where the doctor practiced from his own flat, and set her off there, then picked her up again two hours later. She had so much pain that she was about to collapse while she waited for him, and she was bleeding for a week afterwards, much heavier than her periods. On one of the days she writes that she felt so weak and bled so much that she was afraid of dying.”

“She didn’t tell anyone?”

“Apparently not. It’s only herself and Henrik and the doctors that are mentioned in the diary. She doesn’t seem very close to her parents and there are no siblings.”

“It must have been horrible. I can’t imagine how afraid and lonely she must have been,” David says while absentmindedly rubbing his belly, as if he physically relates to what Even reads. “I don’t think I would have managed without Matteo. Not just for the practical stuff, but all the emotions. And worries and questions, especially before Andreas was born.”   
“You got the right expert, then,” Even smiles. “But I bet he was worried?”

David smiles a little. “He freaked out at first, then he was a wreck all through the pregnancy. I think sometimes I was more relaxed about it than he was, he was always thinking worst case, trying to read up on any complication, asking his colleagues both at the hospital he works and contacting people he barely knew to ask advice.”

“Was the pregnancy not planned?” Even wonders. He remembers Isak’s worries about everything, despite him not being a medical doctor or anything like that, just a worried scientific brain.”You said he freaked out. I assumed you had fertility treatment or something like that, if you don’t mind me being blunt and asking. I know it’s kind of personal.”

“Fuck no, it was a total fluke. I had been on hormones for years, and I kind of knew there was a tiny chance, but I had totally pushed that to the back of my mind, and anyway we were always careful and we talked about me having a hystorectomy because I had these annoying stray bleeds, and then I got really ill, throwing up and feeling like death, and I couldn’t get up and then I fainted in the shower and cracked my head open and Matteo had me bluelighted to hospital thinking I was dying. Little did we know. Then the doctor asked if I was pregnant and I shouted WHAT THE FUCK? In his face. Matteo does a great impersonation of me, getting told I had gotten myself knocked up by my boyfriend. Not one of those moments I thought I would ever have.”

“And Matteo?” 

“He didn’t say a word for about an hour. I think I cried for most of that hour. It was kind of hard to take in, and then it, it was fine, you know? We freaked out together and Matteo bought this stupid green dinosaur toy on the way home, we still have it, and he can’t explain why he bought it, it was just the shock, kind of like, hey! We’re having a kid! We need toys!”

“I would have freaked out too. Matteo must have been hysterical, I know I was when we were told we were having twins. I think I screamed, then drank about a liter of water and then felt like throwing up. I drank the water because my brain told me I had to stay hydrated to care for two babies, so I ran off and drank water. It’s crazy the things you do when you are in shock.”

“Yes, when I expected the twins I had to constantly tell Matteo to chill. Twin pregnancies are high risk, and he was kind of freaking me out with all his worries. I needed some more distance to it to keep afloat. I think I was in denial of Andreas being real until he actually came out. That’s when I freaked.” 

“Tell me about it!” Even laughs. “I sometimes look at Fredrik and Maria and my mind kind of short circuits, thinking, OMG, I have kids!”

“What more do the diaries say?” David asks with curiosity.

“It looks like she continues to write them regularly,” Even says, while swiping through the books. “Some long and some short pieces.”

“Do you know why she got the farm?” David asks.

“From her parents, I guess?” Even shrugs.

“Did she have brothers or sisters?”

“No, not as far as I know.”

“So she got it all then. Do you know when?”

“I am not sure. It looks like she owns it in 1970, she writes a lot about the struggles in running the farm then.”

“She was young? Like… 27?”

“Maybe her parents were of age when they got her? Like 50?”

“It doesn’t look like that.” David has found a brown wooden picture frame in one of the boxes, of a girl about 12-13 years, with Bella’s clear face, and a man and a woman standing next to her, barely older than themselves, dressed in nice clothes. Bella has a huge white bow tie on top of her head.. “It says ‘mor, far och jag’ on the backside, that’s “mum, dad and I”, I guess? And a year, 1955.”   
“Yes, she was 12 then. And they look like 40-45, maximum. No wrinkles and stuff.”

Even settles with the diaries again. He hums while letting his fingers turn the pages trying to find the right dates. The notes here are brief, just a couple of lines, descriptions of what she has done, large expenses, dry listings of what she has harvested. The farm life sounds tough. Long days harvesting in the rain with wet soil and mud, nobody to share it with. He wonders what happens, she seems lonesome on top of the hard work, too.

And suddenly it’s there. On 2 September 1969. The writing is more unruly than usual, large, shaky letters. Only a short note, after weeks of page-long details about life and thoughts during summer, mostly Bella being frustrated about her secretary job in the village, she hoped for a raise so she could afford a room there instead of living with her parents.

“They died in a car crash,” Even says. “They crashed a tree outside the village at night. Someone found them the next day.”

“Shit.”   
“Yes. Apparently Bella had to take over the farming from the next day, in the middle of the harvest season and everything. No time for grief, just hard work. They had a lot of livestock, cows and pigs, as well as vegetables. She writes that while everyone and their cousin attended the funeral, nobody had time to help her running the farm.”

He continues to read. “And fuck, that bastard had stomach to come and ask for her hand!”

“What?”   
“Yes, Henrik asked her to marry him. He promised her a lot of help from himself as well as from his family, apparently he was from a wealthy family, but they didn’t have a farm.”

“She obviously declined him?”

“Apparently.  _ ‘I will do this on my own, so help me God’ _ .”

“Shit, he really was a bastard!” David sighs.

“I wonder where he is now? How old is he again? Around Bella’s age?”

“Yes, I guess so. Born around 1940, perhaps, it looks like he was a friend of Erik more than Bella.”

“So he is dead now, then.”

“Probably. Or he’d be more than 100 years old.” 

“Did she get in touch with Erik again?” David asks.

“I am not sure.” Even grabs another diary from the pile, swiping his thumb along the edge of the pages, until he stops at a random page in it. He glances down at the text. “Not yet,” he mutters, then grabs another one. “Not yet either.”

“Are you fed up already?” David wonders.

“No… just thinking.”

“Okey.” David looks sceptical at Even.

“You know, this is like a movie. Everything that happens for no apparent reason, and then everything changes. Isak used to talk about parallel universes, what would happen if we chose different. And I can’t stop thinking about what destiny they would have had if Erik hadn’t insisted on protecting Bella from himself, or if he hadn’t become sick, or if he had kept in touch with Bella afterwards. What if Bella’s parents died because they went looking for her after she was about to get drunk to drown her sorrows?”

“They died on their way home from a dance,” David protests.

“Yes, whatever. It doesn’t really matter. What matters is what choices we make and how they affect us!” Even feels his own excitement now, his arms are waving and his face feels warm. He breathes a couple of times to calm down. “Sorry, I get exalted,” he excuses, feeling kind of dumb for getting so wired.

“I know, I had moments, just after I met Matteo,” David moves in the chair, waving his arms about. “Moments, where I could have easily made the wrong choice. I was going to walk away, because I didn’t think he would understand. I mean Matteo, I didn’t think he understood, it’s a lot to take in, and hard to explain, but I was me, you know? I would never be able to be all those things Matteo was dreaming about, I would never be his knight in shining armour. I would never be what I thought he needed, and it was stupid, because I kind of know now that I was exaclty what he needed. Just like he was everything I had ever dreamed of, this funny stupid kid who made me smile and turned my world fucking upside down everytime he smiled. And I bet it was the same for Bella. She would have chosen Erik, every time. He made her smile, and he made her happy, with all his illness and flaws, and he made the wrong fucking choice. Damn him. Damn Damn him. If he had just hung on, if he had known Bella was alone on the farm, he could have come to her. She would have, she would have been fucking happy! “ 

“We should have a break.” Even smiles. “You are getting far too invested in this.”

“It just makes me angry! They would have had their happiness.” 

“Perhaps not. We never know what life has in store for us. Maybe Erik didn’t love her, maybe she was too clingy, too attached, and he needed his freedom. Maybe Henrik loved her and she hurt him by not loving him back? He could have been a good person, with good intentions, and getting rejected made him cold. I don’t know. But regret, you know? We all regret things we have done. It’s just life.”

“Suppose so. Things I regret right now?” David chuckles. “The fact that I promised my daughters fish finger sandwiches for lunch, and now I am sitting here and the damn fish fingers are still in the freezer.”

“Damn, man. Dude. Get a grip. That’s like a cardinal sin. Go make bloody sandwiches.” Even’s laughter is obviously catching as David throws his head back in laughter. 

“Keep reading,” he says. “And I will bring you an epic David Schreibner Fish Finger Sandwich. They are the best. Fact.”

“You do that.” Even says, turning another page in the diary. “And send my husband up here for a kiss if you see him?”

“Will do.” David laughs as he walks off towards the house. “Will do.” 

“David?” 

“Yeah?”

“Thanks, man.”

“No worries.”

“Dinner on me tonight?”

“Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Bella, huh?  
> And some slight parallels to current life.
> 
> We are still suckers for comments. Keep'em coming! And we'll try to reply to them faster, too. Ahem. Life is just kind of busy now, with old and new projects for both of us. Stay tuned!


	27. Matteo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matteo is in a pickle and well, when is Matteo NOT in a pickle?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all the brilliant support and comments and kudos and love and hugs. We appreciate it and we can't seem to be able to stop this fic that is thundering along like an out of control juggernaut. But I suppose that is not a bad thing, is it? Big hugs! x

It’s funny how this little house has become home. How Matteo throws his feet up on the rustic coffee table, and pulls Lottie into his chest so he can sniff her hair, trying to get as many kisses on her little face in the process whilst she squirms and squeals and punches her tiny fists into his stomach. So yeah. He’s overbearing on the cuddles, but fuck he loves it. He never thought he would, but he loves cuddles. Hugs. Kisses. Small breaths stuck against his neck. 

“Papi, read it again!” she squeals. “Again!”

He’s read the damn book a million times for her, but as it’s the better out of the 3 books they had brought with them, he agrees. He’ll read her the damn book a million times as long as she’s happy and laughing the way she does now as he carefully opens up the first page. 

“Petronella Apfelhaus und Gurkenhus,” he starts, barely acknowledging the text on the page. 

“It’s Petronella Apfelmus!” Lottie giggles. “You are reading it all wrong.”

“Bloody Petronella Apfel whatever” Andreas huffs as he throws himself down in the armchair next to them.

“It’s actually quite good,” Matteo says whilst he rolls his eyes at his oldest son and smiles, hoping for sympathy. “Perhaps you would like to read it to Lottie?”

“Never.” Andreas cackles and pats Matteo on the arm. “You read it very well, and she likes you reading to her.” He’s being sarcastic AF, but Matteo just laughs. 

“Have you seen Lilly?” he says instead whilst Andreas sinks further into the armchair, grabbing a stray pillow and hugging it tight to his chest. 

“She’s with Even cooking something up in the other house, they were being very secretive, and Vati is there still trying to organize those dusty old folders. He doesn’t even speak Scandi whatever, so I’m not sure what he is doing, but he keeps muttering out days and months in German being all stressed out so I left him to it.”

“At least it’s fun stress. He’s quite enjoying working on it. Even was all overexcited last night, trying to tell us all the stories. Anyway. You good, kiddo?” 

“Papi.” Andreas sighs. Yeah. Sometimes he is full of words, needing Matteo’s help and advice, and other times? Like now? It’s like talking to a brick wall. 

“I know, I won’t ask. I just want to know that you are OK.”

“I’m OK,” he sighs. “Dickhead won’t even look me in the eye, and he certainly won’t talk to me,” Andreas offers, hiding his face under the pillow.

“Then you need to perhaps wait him out,” Matteo tries. Which is totally the wrong way to go about it, it’s just that the right way is kind of eluding him right now. 

“Papi, read!!” Lottie shrieks. 

“Perhaps you should go and find him and ask him to go for a walk. Totally safe. Just down to the lake and back and talk about normal things that won’t make him uneasy. Then just apologize if you have upset him and tell him that you are an idiot and whatever.”

“And whatever. Epic, Papi.”

“I am Epic. Admit it.”

“You are an idiot, you say so yourself.”

“Paaaapi, read the boooook!” Lottie whinges in despair.

“See? Read the fucking book, Papi.”

“Language, Andreas!” Matteo shouts, whilst Andreas haplessly falls out of the chair, rolling over and landing on his back on the floor.

“I’m fucked. We might as well go home.”

“I don’t want to go home! Maria said that she has a sofa bed in her house in Oslo, and that Lilly and I can share it when we visit, so we are going home with Maria.”

“You can’t go home with Maria, liebchen, you have to come back with Vati and me, otherwise we would miss you too much, and you are going back to school, and Katarzyna and Shajani and Kimmi and Otto and all your friends would miss you too. You can’t just not go to school, Lottie.”

“I can go to Maria’s school. And anyway Mrs Martha at the farm said I could have a kitten to take home.”

“Good luck with that one, Papi.” Andreas laughs and rolls over getting up with a stumble towards the hallway. “Lottie, ask Papi for a kitten. We can bring all the kittens back to Berlin.” He cackles evilly before kind of falling out the door, the way only Andreas does, with his trainers half on and half off, shoelaces trailing behind him.  _ He will break his neck one day _ , Matteo thinks, almost out loud, as he spots Andreas through the window, his shoulders hunched as he stumbles his way through the long grass up towards the main house. 

“Papi, we should bring three kittens home, one for me and one for Lilly and then one for Andreas too, because otherwise he will just cuddle our kittens. I don’t want him to cuddle my kitten and Lilly can’t cuddle my kitten either.”

“Sweetheart, we can’t bring any cats home to Berlin, you can’t take little kittens away from their mummy when they are that small, they need mummy milk and then they need to learn how to be big cats and they need to go to the vet and get immunised and there are all sorts of permits you need to get for a cat to travel to a different country.”

“But nobody will see the kitten, I will hide it under my jumper all the way so nobody knows it’s there. And anyway, I can make a little passport for it, can’t I? I just need a little book like mine and I can put a picture of the kitten and everything.”

He can’t help the laughter that spills out of his mouth as Lilly rounds the corner and Lottie bounces off the sofa shrieking that Lilly has to com help her make cat passports and they are bringing all the kittens home, like she hasn’t heard a single word he has said.

“That’s going to end in tears, babe,” David says with a sigh as he sinks into the armchair, throwing the discarded cushion Matteo’s way. 

“I tried to explain,” Matteo says weakly. “She just won’t listen.”

“She’ll be obsessed with something else in a few days, she’ll get over it.”

“How is your organising thing going?”

“Almost done. We found a scrapbook full of newspaper clippings, I need Even to look through them because I don’t understand much. We found Erik’s notice of death, so we know he passed away. It said his parent’s names as next of kin. Just the two of them, no other relatives. That kind of threw me. But Bella knew he died, and mourned him. There are just so many questionmarks in the whole story, it’s like a big tragedy of wasted love. They would have been good for each other.”

“It’s good you have something to do. It’s nice.”

“It’s kind of relaxing.” David smiles.

“Did you see Andreas?”

“Yeah, not sure whats going on but he stomped upstairs and shouted that he wasn’t moving until whomever was up there talked to him. Any idea what’s going on?”

“Drama,” Matteo laughs softly, “Just kids and their fucking drama.” 

Dinner turns out to be a tense affair, with Fredrik looking pale and withdrawn, and Andreas at the other end of the table staring across at the boy with a face like thunder. Matteo catches Even’s eye, sideeying the boys then nodding towards the kitchen. He’s not even discreet about it and Matteo snickers under his breath, pretending to pick up something from the floor. 

He follows Even out into the kitchen, randomly carrying a stray glass to look helpful. Well, Even burst into laughter and his stage whisper isn’t even quiet. 

“What’s up with the boys?”

“Some random drama no doubt. I wouldn’t worry about it,” Matteo tries. He’s not going to give anything away here, the  _ Man to Man _ talks are his badge of honour for Fatherhood, something he has worked hard to instill in his oldest son. He wishes he had had his own father’s trust as a lost teen, and not had to hang around for Hans to turn up and teach him all the things his own father should have taught him. Like using lube for wanking. Oil in the frying pan instead of butter so the fishfingers don’t burn. That there is a difference between coffee cream and whipping cream. All things he instead had learnt the hard way. 

Even just cocks his head and hisses, “You are a worse liar than my husband. Isak can’t lie for shit. His nose twitches and his eyes flicker and he gets this nervous twitch in his top lip. It’s so bloody obvious it’s not even funny.”

“And me? How can you tell I’m lying?” Matteo almost shrieks, totally unable to contain his chill. He has no chill. Fuck. 

“You stand on one foot, and alternate. Like you are tapping. Nervous trait. I bet you do that when you are telling patients bad news too, kind of nervous dancing whilst you mince your words and tell them all kinds of things to get around telling them their dicks are falling off or something.”

“I’ve never had a dick fall off.”

“See? That’s the truth, you stood absolutely still saying that.”

“Bullshit.”

“So what’s up with your son?”

“Doesn’t want to go home.”

“Ah. Classic. Now, dude, what is really up with your son?”

Matteo can’t help it, he rolls his eyes and that nervous giggle is back as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Another of his nervous tics. Always fidgeting with something when he can’t spill the truth. 

“Look. I know what the problem is, but I am not going to break that confidence. So let me just put your mind at ease by saying that the boys will probably be very very important to each other for the rest of their lives, and just let them hash this out in their own time. It’s nothing serious that concerns anyone but the two of them …..and they didn’t take drugs, if that is what you are thinking.”

Even just laughs out loud. “Where the fuck would they get drugs out here?”

“Fuck do I know? The farm next door might grow weed in that barn for all I know? I have watched Breaking Bad, you know.”

“You’re a fucking idiot, you’re worse than Isak!” Even laughs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Where did you buy weed when you were their age?”

“Their age? I didn’t even know what weed was when I was 14. I was a bloody altar boy at my parent’s church and read comics at night. Bloody innocent and naive until my best friend Jonas offered me a bong on our 16th birthday and then we met Carlos who sold stuff and then I met his dealer and before I knew it, I was on a 20 euro a week habit. It was ridiculous. So bloody stupid.”

“See? Stop overthinking shit.”

“I just worry. I was stupid, and I don’t want Andreas to be stupid.”

“Andreas isn’t stupid, your son is pretty cool. But can I ask you something? You don’t have to actually answer, just blink once for yes and twice for no. OK?”

“This isn’t an episode of Breaking Bad and I hope you are not recording this on your phone.” Matteo grits out.

“Scouts honor!” Even replies and salutes him like the fool he is. 

“No, seriously mate, level with me. If you were absolutely honest with me, what do you think the chances are that some of our children, and there are several children here, and we will not be naming names. But what do you, in your personal opinion think of the chances that one, or more of our children might not choose to to be with a member of the opposite sex in the future? Again, don’t answer. Just blink.”

“I would say that there is no exact science on the matter and that it doesn’t fucking matter and that my gaydar has never been wired correctly, I couldn’t even spot that my boss was gay, he had to spell it out to me and show pictures of his, in my professional opinion of course, very built and handsome husband. So no. I have no opinion on that, because as long as our kids are happy I don’t fucking care who they choose to be with.”

He says that sentence a little louder than the rest, just in case anyone is listening into their perhaps not so private conversation as the dining area next door is surprisingly quiet. 

Then he blinks. Once. 

“Thought so,” Even whispers. “So you know what is going on.”

“Of course I know what’s going on. Do you know what’s going on?”

“Not a fucking clue, mate, but thank you anyway, because I kind of knew this was inevitable. My son has a massive crush on your son and it’s all somehow come out and if your son is giving him shit then I might have to have words with him. Unless you have already had words. Fredrik is bloody crushed.”

“No words needed,” Matteo says in a voice as low as he can muster. “Andreas is trying to make things right, he is not giving him shit, I can promise you that. I think Andreas is dealing with this in a really good way, and I honestly think we need to just leave them to it.”

“I know,” Even whines. “I just hate seeing him so bloody broken. He’s only a kid and he’s fucking heartbroken. He’s been following that boy around like a lost sheep for weeks and now he doesn’t even want to leave his room.”

“He’ll be fine. I’ll check in with Andreas later and make sure everything is good. OK? Would that make you feel better?”

“Don’t tell Isak, OK? Because I don’t think he has a clue, and he might overreact. You know. He tends to blow a fuse if we are out of milk. That’s kind of his level.”

“Scouts honor.” Matteo offers his fist, and Even bumps it. “And by the way, where  _ do _ you get drugs around here?”

He winks. Even bloody winks. 

“Lady at the farm next door grows medicinal cannabis in the greenhouse. Don’t tell Isak.”

“I bloody knew it!” Matteo shrieks. 

“Knew what?” Isak interrupts. “We are sitting there like fools waiting for the salad to go with the lasagna and you are standing here gossiping like two old grannies.”

“We are no grannies. We are discussing serious shit.” Even smiles and tugs Isak in for a kiss. “And anyway, we were just discussing growing weed in the barn. Might be a good income for the future. We could have a little quiet business here over the summer, maybe get a stall at the Henriksvik fair?”

“Fuck off, Even,” Isak mutters. “And bring the ketchup.” 

  



	28. Even

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even surprises Isak.

“Hnnnnggfg.”

Isak digs his face deeper into the pillow as Even opens the curtains and lets the bright morning sun in before sitting down at the mattress. He tickles Isak at the nape of his neck, making small twirls from the sweat hair.  
“Wake up, babe,” he cheers. He kisses his neck. The intoxicating smell of Isak fills him, the soft night smells, of sweat, spices, fruits, garlic from yesterday’s dinner. He can’t resist licking lightly at the skin, tasting the salty film on it. “I could eat you,” he mutters into the warmth.  
“Even…” Isak turns around. His face is suddenly right below Even’s. Even bends down for a kiss, and Isak scrunches his nose. “Haven’t brushed your teeth, have you? How many garlic cloves did you put in the marinade for the meat yesterday?”  
“Not that much.” Even giggles. “But there were three whole cloves in the tzatziki…”  
“Ugh.” Isak looks away. “What time is it?” He looks around for his phone.  
“Uhm, you don’t wanna know,” Even chuckles. “But get up. I have a surprise for you.”  
“Surprise?” Isak gets that sceptical look.  
“Yup.” He bounces the mattress. “Get up!”

For a moment Even is uncertain about the surprise. Maybe Isak won’t like it, maybe it will just make him worried, maybe he gets knots in his stomach every time Even makes a surprise, maybe he is just sheltering Even from the feelings. He takes a deep breath while looking closely at Isak, trying to read his mask, trying to see if there is more than sleepiness and a slight annoyance in his face.

With a sigh Isak sits up and rubs his eyes. He reaches for his phone. “Fuck. It’s seven o'clock.” He looks at Even with sleepy eyes. “I could have slept like three hours more,” he whines.  
“Well, I could have started changing the bad weatherboards around the window, too. That was my plan for this morning, actually, but surprising you seemed funnier.”

Isak blows frustrated through his lips while he marches towards the bathroom. Even picks up a few things in the bedroom, and hears Isak starting to brush his teeth after flushing the toilet. He drags his tongue over his front teeth. He probably should brush them himself, too, he thinks, and joins Isak in the bathroom for a few minutes.

“So, are we bringing anything for this surprise of yours?” Isak asks and look around when they get down into the kitchen afterwards. He is cute with his ruffled hair, khakis and the old t-shirt that hugs his chest on the right places, his arms stretching as he reaches for the espresso Even hands him, and Even can feel the whiff of night sweat from his armpits, the smell seems to go straight to his crotch.  
“Nope,” he says. “Well, I am, but you are not.” He nods towards his stuffed backpack by the door. “Put on your trainers and lets go!”  
Isak stops in his tracks and groans. “Trainers? Are we jogging? There is no way I am running with you at seven fucking thirty in the morning when I am on holidays!”  
“Relax, babe. No running, unless you want to run for me,” he winks. “You can wear whatever you want, but trainers are probably the most comfortable.”

They follow the path to the lake first, surrounded by chirping birds and thin sunrays through the leaves, the calm morning feeling despite the nature having been awake for hours already.

“So we’re swimming in the lake?” Isak asks with a smile, grabbing Even’s hand as the path widens. He seems more relaxed now, he has probably come to terms with being woken too early and adjusted his head and mood from sleeping to awake.  
“Maybe.” Even squeezes his hand lightly. It’s nice to walk like this, hand in hand, it doesn’t happen too often anymore. They may grab their hands from time to time, in bed, in the kitchen, a quick stroke between other things, last time they were in the cinema, which was only a couple of months ago, but they should probably do it more often, Even thinks, watch some new movies there instead of streaming them half asleep on the couch out of old habits.

He turns right when they reach the beach. The lake is glittering to their left, small waves meeting the rays from the sun, the light blue sky mirroring on the surface, it looks like it will be another warm day. The heat is better here than in Oslo, the lake close for a cooling bath, the teens have almost lived at the beach for the past days.

They got a huge inflatable flamingo in the village a while ago, it turned out to be three metres across and took the kids several hours to inflate with the old foot-pump they found in the shed. Now they seem to be glued to it all day, or maybe more magnetized to it, as they jump off, take a swim and then are pulled towards it for some more slack time, they even bring drinks and food out to the floating bird, safely tethered to the dock by its long line.

The path turns into the forest again after the small sand beach. It’s lush and green there, still cool from the night, not the sweating humidity of the evening. The tracks are narrow, but Isak keeps holding his hand following right behind him. Suddenly Even stops. “Shhh!” he says. He points forward.

A small deer is standing at the edge of the forest a few metres in front of them. It munches on some leaves, they are obviously not detected yet. Even wishes he had his camera here, but he only has his phone and it’s in the side pocket of the backpack, there will be too much noise to get it. They watch it in silence, Even smiling all the time, of the sight of the small animal, of the feeling of Isak’s fingers tight around his own.

Suddenly a small breeze blows. The deer startles and looks at them for a second, before jumping off in the opposite direction.

They continue walking without saying anything, just smiles at each other. The path soon widens into a meadow between the trees, covered with grass and flowers of all colours. He grins and bends down to pick a few of them, trying to get all of them, harebells, dandelions, red and white clovers, cow parsley, rosebay willowherbs and poppies, several more flowers he doesn’t know the name of.

With a bow, he presents the bouquet to Isak. “For you, mylady!” he giggles.  
“Mylady? Have you gone completely straight now?” he laughs back. “Thank you, master Næsheim,” he squeaks, making a small curtsey while sniffing the flowers.

They continue through the woods, turning right where the paths cross. The trees above them are still gives a cooling shade, while the bushes along the tracks brushes their bare legs. Even bits his lip, hopefully there aren’t ticks here, they have to remember to check when they get back home. Their breaths are getting shorter as the path gets steeper. It’s not far now, Even assures himself, he has been here many times before during their years here, but this is actually the first time Isak comes with him.

Suddenly they are out of the forest. The path widens as the small peak raises in front of them, it’s neither big nor steep, they will run the last hundred metres in minutes, Even knows. He looks at Isak with a grin. “Race for the peak?” he asks. For a minute Isak looks sceptical, but as Even sets off, he follows suit.

Even pants heavily as he barely makes it to the top before Isak. He is resting his elbows in his thighs as Isak reaches the peak. “You cheated,” Isak laughs. “Got a head start.”  
“Did not.” Even shakes his head. “You were just late.”  
“I am never late.”  
Even giggles. “You are the master of being late, Isak.”

The view is mesmerizing. They can see far in all directions, mostly forests, but also tracks in the green that Even knows are roads. To the north there are fields behind the forest, a few farms are visible far away. They can see the lake as well, the water is glittering between the trees, it’s not even a kilometre in a straight line away, he knows. Their own farm is hidden behind the trees.

They are standing at a small peak, the tallest hill around, covered by grass and a few large stones. One of them is flat and makes a perfect place to lie down, Even knows. Next to the stone there are remnants of a wooden structure, pieces of beams, ashes from an old fireplace in the middle. There was a fire tower here before, but they stopped manning them decades ago, now the area is watched by planes and drones instead.

“Wow.” Isak looks around. “I didn’t know there were an actual view on these forest plains,” he says. He looks stunned. Even smiles as he puts his backpack on the flat stone. He lines the contents on the flat surface. “Breakfast is served,” he says as he pours coffee from the flask into a mug for Isak.

“You brought stuff,” Isak smiles and hoisters himself up on the warm stone. He grabs the drink and smells it with delight. Even takes a sip of his own mug, and relaxes as the warm liquid runs down inside his throat.  
“Here is breakfast as well.” He hands Isak something wrapped in beeswax paper and watches Isak grin as he unwraps it.

He made them baguettes before he woke Isak, bread from the batch he made yesterday, not less fresh than any bread he would buy in the afternoon at home. He put on the salt butter he bought at the farm on the other side of the village, and loaded it with cheese and ham, extravagant amounts, probably like the kids do, he adds dryly in his thoughts, according to how fast the meats and cheese disappears between their shopping trips.

Even lies down with his head in Isak’s lap. He watches him break off small pieces of bread, the soft butter melting against his fingers. He chugs the ham and cheese pieces before breaking off more of the crust. Even chuckles towards him. “I shouldn’t have bothered making a sandwich for you, I could just have put it all separately in the wrap, that’s how you eat it anyway.”  
“No, I am eating it properly. It tastes better this way,” Isak protests. “The ham and cheese and bread all taste so good that it’s a shame to mix them.”  
“This is how you eat your lunch at work, too? Nobody ever said anything about your manners there?”

Even feels Isak tighten up below him. The hand that was relaxing on his shoulders stills and his abs a shaking as he lets out his breath in a controlled manner. He looks up at him. His lips are slightly apart and his eyes closed.  
“You ok?” he asks in a low voice. He feels Isak take a deep breath, then he nods.  
“Sure?” Even lifts his hands to touch Isak’s cheek. It feels cold and clammy under his palm. His breath is warm against his thumb.

He sits himself up next to Isak, and takes the sandwich from his hand before wrapping his arm around his shoulder and pulling him closer. “How is work?” he asks against his neck, instinctively pinpointing the issue, or perhaps not instinctively, it’s more like he knows how Isak has been tensing up when work has been mentioned recently, how he has spoken less and less about it over the past months, how the days at work have seemed stressing and draining and how it has seeped over into the evenings at home.

The skin at the neck is tickling soft and warm at his lips before he kisses it.  
Isak is taking another deep breath, and Even can feel him open his mouth as if he wants to say something.

“Not so good,” he mumbles. “It’s so much.”

Then it pours out. The department head. Daniel, the new guy. The project. Svalbard.  
“You know you can go? You know I won’t keep you here?” Even says.  
“But I don’t want to go!” Isak almost yells, stiffening against Even. “She hadn’t talked to me at all before writing her proposal, and if she did, I would have said no, I don’t want to go!”

Even ponders for a second, uncertain about what to say. “Why don’t you want to? Svalbard is a good opportunity, isn’t it? You liked it there when you were there before, and you always talk so fondly about the people you cooperate with up there.

Isak sighs. “Yes, but…” He turns towards Even. There is something in his eyes, something disillusioned, Even thinks. The anger from seconds ago is completely gone. “It kind of feels like we aren’t getting anywhere there. The research is stalled, or not the research, but the results, they don’t get anywhere. We add finding after finding, but yet nobody is doing anything about it, they just talk.” He sighs. “And I don’t want to leave you.” He draws his breath. “I have been thinking about it lately. Maria and Fredrik are becoming a handful, and maybe it’s just because that’s how teenagers are, but I want to be there for them, Even. I want to be there for their homework and football practice and school events, and pick them up at friends’ and when they get too drunk in a party. I don’t want all this to be your responsibility.” He bites his lower lip. “And I don’t want to be my father.”

Even slides his fingers through his hair. It is still as soft as it was when they met more than 25 years ago. He can’t really believe it’s been that long. Who would have thought that when they jumped into the pool, he thinks, that it would lead them here and that they would still be an “us” so many years later. His thoughts drift and he can feel his lips curl up into a smile. “You will never be your father,” Even says while giving Isak a soft kiss. He draws back again and look at him. “And you know I will never try to stop you from reaching your career goals, do you? No matter how much extra job it puts on me, or how uneven you feel it is.”  
Isak nods. “I know. But I don’t think this is a good career move either. It’s a plot to get me away.” He sighs and rolls over to his back again. “I don’t even think I want to be there anymore,” he says. “But I have no idea what to do. It’s the only life I know. Professionally, I mean.”  
“They maybe you should quit?” Even asks.

Isak shrugs. “I don’t have a new job. And I have no idea where to look for a new job.”  
“You can still quit. You will find a new job. We will cope.”  
“I don’t want you to cope. I don’t want change.”  
“Now you’re whining,” Even says.  
“Yeah, I know,” he sighs. “But I still don’t want to look for a new job. Just the thought of it feels exhausting, and then I have to quit this job and start the new one and then maybe I’ll be fired after the trial period…”  
“Isak, stop it,” Even says. “You’re overthinking again.”  
He sighs. “Yes, I know. And the thought of staying is actually worse than the one of leaving to find something new.”  
Even smiles and nods. He cups Isak’s face and kisses him again. “I think you got your answer there, didn’t you?”  
He looks at Isak again, serious this time. “But Isak. Don’t let the thought of us, of me and the kids, decide for you. Think of yourself for once. We will cope. I can make cinema campaigns if I have to. Or take model pictures. The ones I took of that Italian guy turned out pretty cool, I think.”  
Isak laughs. “You can’t do cinema campaigns, Even. You would flip from it. Imagine using your creativity for marketing yet another winter tire or a low-budget activity park for kids.”  
Even giggles. “Ok, maybe model photography, then.”  
“I promise to be patient. I can’t really imagine you working with cocky models who don’t want to pose for yet another picture.”

For a moment they just lie there smiling and giggling at each other. Even feels Isak’s hands on his hips, his belly shaking against his own, Isak’s deep green eyes almost disappearing in the liberating laugh, he looks freer than he has in a while, and suddenly Even feels they are completely twosome in this, that this is not _Even and Isak_ laughing, but _them_ or _us_ , the two of them, together.

Then Isak gets serious again. “What about you?” he asks.  
“Me?”  
“Yes, the farm and all that?”

Even sighs and scrunches his forehead. “I have actually been thinking about the farm, too,” he says. “I…” He looks at Isak, who watches him seriously, before drawing his breath. “I think I want to keep it,” he says. “David and I, we have found so much about Bella, about her life and the people she crossed paths with, and the entire story is so interesting and touching, not necessarily because it is so unusual, but because she tells all about it! He diaries are extensive, Isak!” He feels the energy bubbling.

“And last night I called my mum while you were chilling after dinner. It’s no coincidence that I got the farm, Isak, Bella knew about me and wanted me to have it, and now it feels like I can’t let it go. I don’t really know what I want to do with it, maybe we can let it out a bit more, I guess we can get some of the locals to handle much of it, there will be less money for us, but there will be some and we will have less worries and work, and we can just relax when we are here, instead of having to think about how to make the farm house nice for future guests, or worry about if someone damaged something while we weren’t here or…”

Isak hushes him. “Now you are rambling,” he says while giving his lips a soft peck. “Don’t worry about it, Even. If you want to keep the farm, just do it. You have been full of energy recently, and not in a worrying way. Your eyes are shining. You seem to have thought about this a lot, and if this is something you believe in, then follow it.”  
Even smiles at Isak and strokes his cheek with his finger tips. The skin is moist and soft after the brisk walk in the sun. “But what if it’s just a whim?” he asks. “What if it’s just another one of my hurried ideas that I lose interest in within a few months?”  
Isak shrugs. “Then you lose interest,” he says. “Then we can sell it then? We don’t have to worry about it now.”

Even looks at him. “You don’t seem to care as much now as last time?” he asks. “Then I felt stupid for wanting anything to do with this farm.”  
“I am sorry,” Isak says. “I think I didn’t realize how much the farm meant to you. I thought you thought it was a burden and that you wanted to get rid of it, and that was ok with me, I didn’t feel as much for it. But then you had all these plans and I felt bad for not seeing it, for not understanding your feelings and for not understanding that you actually had them in the first place.” He smiles slightly at Even. “But now I understand your passion for it, and if this is what you want, we will make it work.”

Even smiles at Isak again and kisses him. A loud growl comes from Isak’s belly. “Are you hungry?” he asks with a giggle.  
Isak nods. “I think there is still more left,” he says, picking up his sandwich again.

The sun is warm and the sandwiches are not as fresh as they were when Even made them. He is about to say something about them, excuse them, suggest that they could just go home instead, that the sandwiches are no good anymore. Then he watches Isak devour his food, he is still sticking pieces of ham and cheese into his mouth, licking greasy butter off his fingers, laughing before he takes a proper bite of the sandwich. Even smiles as he bites into his own sandwich, the taste is still the same, even though the cheese is sweaty and the butter is running along the crust and across his lips.

Isak looks at him as he drags his thumb along his jaw and wipes off a dollop of butter at the corner of Even’s mouth. The greenness of his eyes is replaced with a burning darkness of desire. Even quickly sticks out his tongue to lick the butter off, and sucks Isak’s thumb into his mouth. His lips closes around it as he sucks it in. Isak keeps it still, lets him taste it, feel the surface of his pad against his taste buds, the salty taste of his skin mixed with the fat of the butter and the smoked taste of the ham.

With a loud pop Even lets go of Isak’s finger. He puts down his bread and slowly turns around and pulls Isak down. Without letting go of his eyes, Isak crawls down to him and puts his arms around him. He grimaces as he lies down on the hard surface, and Even startles. “The blanket, I forgot that! Wait a second!” He rushes for the backpack and pulls out a thick blanket before spreading it across the stone. “Better now?” he asks when he lies down again with Isak.

Isak answers by dragging him in for a kiss, letting his soft lips taste him, licking along the edge, leaving small pecks along the jaw before nudging at his nose. “Much better,” he mutters as he reaches for his t-shirt to pull it off. Even helps him before taking off his own, stretching his arms in the air for an extra second, knowing his nipples are stiffening against the sudden air, the hair in his armpits being wet and smelling of stale sweat, if he lets Isak put his nose there he will get crazy, he knows, feeling the well-known pressure in his pants as the fabrics hold tight against his beginning hard-on, while looking at Isak with all the love his eyes can muster.

They lie on the hard stone, the heat from the sun against their bodies. Their hips are grinding against each other, arms slinging around the chest, a hand rubbing up and down the backside, hectic breaths, rhythmic movements, loud sounds, Even feels the blood running through his veins, Isak is beautiful as he bends his head back, exposing his flushed neck and chest. Even places a pearl chain of small nips along his collar bone, some of them leaving small, red marks on the skin, others only marking him in his mind.  
“Do you come prepared, mylady?” Isak gasps against his ear.  
“Wasn’t I master?” Even breathes back as he licks a trail along his jaw.  
“Master Næsheim, are you prepared?” Isak puffs.  
“I am always prepared.” He chuckles and reaches for his backpack, fumbling with the fabric and straps while continuing to lick and suck at Isak, before he triumphantly holds up a bottle of lube and a stripe of condoms.

He shivers as Isak drizzles the cool lube across them both. His fingers are holding around them, he starts to pull up and down while their hard dicks are sliding towards each other. The lube is running down the shaft, he wiggles a bit when he feels it run across his balls and further down. Isak’s other hand follows and slides across his balls, plays with them between his fingers, while his other hand is still stroking them unsteadily.

He can feel Isak’s finger slide slowly towards his opening, and tries to spread his cheeks further to let him in, stemming his heels against the stone while lying flat. He knows there is a shape carved at the edge of the stone, perfectly rounded for his ass, he may have tried lying down there before, resting his heels to spread himself open, with the cool air blowing at his opening, visualizing the second before Isak will enter him.

Then he feels a sudden desire to fuck Isak. He closes his eyes, and tries to picture Isak in the same position. “Isak, can I fuck you?” he stutters. Isak’s eyes are getting dark again, and he stills with his finger tip against his opening while nodding.

Even stands up on his knees and kisses Isak. He feels the warmth from him, the damp glow, his leaking dick. “I want to see you,” he says. “Lie down.”

Isak lies down, and Even drags him towards the edge of the stone, Isak’s butt fits perfect in the seat. He spreads his legs while pulling up his knees, and Isak lies back. His opening is dark and glistering. Even adds some more lube and lets his finger slide in, gasps as he sees it disappear in Isak, adds another, while looking at Isak’s face. Isak bites his lower lip for a second, before relaxing again. Even swiftly brushes against the soft spot further up, and feels Isak clench around him again. “I think you are ready,” he whispers. “I thought I hid my plug?”

Isak blushes. “I have some stuff in my bag, too,” he admits. “Some things you have given me,” he adds. Even smiles surprised, he has given Isak toys for birthdays and Christmas over the years, but they haven’t really gotten around to use it, not together as the intention was, but the thought of Isak using them on his own makes him shiver a bit. “When have you used it?” he rasps.  
“At home, when you were out. Or travelling. And here. When you have been running around.”  
“Yesterday?”  
Isak smiles and clenches around his fingers again. “What do you think?” he whispers.

Even pulls out. “I think you are ready to be fucked, my dear,” he says.  
He quickly puts in a condom, it’s better without, but it’s more of a hassle to clean up, and with the beats from his dick he is afraid he will come immediately, like his 17 year old self would.

He slicks himself up and slowly breaches Isak. He is tight, but pushes against him, soon taking him without a break. Seeing his dick disappear into him almost makes Even come, there is still some magic at seeing the shaft slide into the narrow entrance, apparently without resistance, yet still with the almost painful tightness around himself, feeling completely engulfed by Isak, as if he is ready to let them melt together into one body, unite them as one soul.

“Fuck, I love you,” Even groans. He starts to move, first in slow, long movements, then Isak slings his legs around his hips and starts to push faster towards him.

The panting from Isak is getting louder. Even hears the smacks of himself pushing against him. Isak’s dick is hard between them, and Even grabs it and tries to move his hand at a steady pace while keeping up the fucking.

Even has locked his eyes at Isak, his green eyes are almost black, then disappearing behind his closed eyelids. Isak has never been able to keep them open as he comes. He closes his eyes and stretches his neck back, exposing his throat. The sweaty skin is stretched, the adam’s apple is bobbing as he pants, then stilling just before he comes. He pulls his thighs harder around Even, holding them with his hands while panting heavily through his parted lips, concentrating on Even’s steady yet shaky movements across his shaft.

With a loud groan he comes, followed by Even’s release a few seconds into Isak’s orgasm.

They are resting on the blanket afterwards. Their cum is smeared across their bodies, pooling cold at Isak’s belly, sore muscles from the awkward positions. They let the sun bake them, Even mutters something about getting sunburns and Isak smears semen across them, joking that it will work as sunscreen. Even is bantering that Isak is acting like he is 17.  
”Maybe I am,” Isak whispers.

When they finally come down from the hill and walks through the forest towards the lake, the Andreas and Maria are swimming around the flamingo while Matteo and David are watching the twins play by the shore. The teens cast them some ignorant glances, but Matteo winks as they decline the suggestion about a swim before lunch. “You sure?” he laughs. Even feels the heat in his cheeks and looks at Isak. “Maybe a short swim would be nice,” he suggests, feeling the crackling film on the skin under his t-shirt, as well as the soft hug from Isak’s hand.

“Where is Fredrik?” Isak asks, looking up towards the house.  
“He’s in his room. Didn’t want to come,” David says softly. “I tried to talk to him but he’s in a really strange mood.”

“He was keen on the idea to come to Berlin in October, the kids all have a week off school, I mean we have to check if it works, timewise, but you could send them on a flight down to us and we would look after them, of course. Andreas wants to show them around and there is Oktoberfest and all the sights to see, of course. They said they have studied the second world war, and there are some amazing museums and we can take them to the Wall, and Checkpoint Charlie and then we have to have lunch at the TV tower.” Matteo is talking faster than he should, almost like he is trying to distract Isak, who is looking like a deer lost in the headlights, apart from that his head is clearly in turmoil between wanting to run up to the house and check on Fredrik versus having a cool swim in the lake.

“I’ll check on Fredrik,” Even says calmly, trying to meet Matteo’s eyes. Matteo who shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders, which makes zero sense at all. But then Matteo is Matteo and Isak looks visibly relieved at his suggestion of checking on Fredrik.

“That sounds like a good plan,” Isak says, like he is trying out the words in his mouth. “I have a shitload of work coming up, and Even’s schedule is always up in the air, but if you don’t think it would be too much trouble?” Isak says, fidgeting on one foot, then letting himself sink down on the ground so that he is at least sat down. Before he falls over. Because Even lets a little giggle slip at his mess of a husband who can barely see straight after a morning of full on sex. Sex. Yeah. Even’s head is still swimming in hormones too. Nice.

“Shall I bring down some beers?” he questions as he heads up to the house.  
“Beer.” Matteo sighs and lays himself down on the ground. “Lots of beer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, research in Svalbard replaced by #slowliving in Sweden, financed by crappy cinema ads?
> 
> Thanks for your comments and feedback, we crave them!


	29. David

Having a massive bonfire on the beach had seemed like a brilliant idea. Well. At the time. 

Now the kids are filthy and running around like feral puppies, jumping in the lake one moment and the twins were naked a minute ago and now they are coming down from the house, wearing clothes again, screaming about being eaten by giant killer mosquitoes. 

“Come here, Liebchen!” he calls at Lilly, who clearly isn’t wearing socks in her trainers and probably no underwear either under the jeans that somehow have become far too small for her over the past weeks, and now her buttocks are sticking up over the waistband, and the jumper she is wearing has ketchup stains all over the front. 

“Nein!” she shouts back and manages to bypass his outstretched arms. 

He has lost control, that’s for sure. His darling babies are no longer the helpless children he brought up here a few weeks back. Now they are independent adventurers who don’t even need him to get fed or go to sleep. Both the girls have spent the last two nights in Maria’s bed, and Even has fed them every meal and David feels like a spare wheel. 

Surprisingly not in a bad way, since he’s been absorbed in clearing out the barn, and have catalogued Bella’s diaries, and after a few panic moments where there were clearly books missing, the pages were found, and more binders were hiding inside the main house, forgotten in the bottom of the storage area in what was once Bella’s office. It’s still an office, but now houses just a few hardback books and Isak’s reference textbooks from University. Even had picked out a few of Bella’s romance novels too, the ones that looked the most loved and were in a dry good condition. Something to keep a little bit of Bella alive in the room she must have spent so many hours in, writing down her feelings for the world to keep.

“Let them be,” Matteo says softly, wrapping his arms around his waist from behind. “They are having fun, and we only have one more day and then we have to go.”

“That’s what you said yesterday,” David teases and Matteo kisses his cheek. 

“I wish we could stay, but I think it’s a great idea having the kids come to stay in October, and if it’s Halloween, even better. Andreas could have a party and the girls could go stay with Mum, and you and I could go out for the night.”

“Yeah, and come back to a trashed flat,” David giggles. 

“No, Maria would be there, I completely trust her to keep everything under control. I am sure she would ring us if things were getting out of control.”

“Look.” David turns around and puts his hand over Matteo’s mouth, because he doesn’t quite trust Matteo not to make a noise. And right now, they need to be quiet. Because Andreas and Fredrik are up among the trees, and David is pretty sure that was just a little bit more than a friendly hug going on. 

“What?”

“Just kiss me, you fool.”

“Arsch,” Matteo snickers and grabs himself a handful of David’s behind. 

“I think Andreas and Fredrik are friends again.”

“Thank god for that,” Matteo snickers and presses a wet kiss to David’s mouth. 

“I… think I need to throw a few more books on that bonfire,” David tries, pushing Matteo away with a giggle, whilst Matteo pushes him backwards until he is wedged against a tree, and his husbands mouth is sucking bruises into his neck.

“I want to have sex tonight. I’m just throwing it out here, and you can say no, but baby, I really need you. One last time. It’s just better here. We’re relaxed, and fuck. Baby. Just let me fuck you again. Please. You can fuck me too, and then…”

“Then we are going to be sat in a car for two days straight with sore arses and you will blame me.”

The face on Matteo is priceless as he tries to put on full on innocence when in reality he looks goddamn guilty.

“I can live with that,” he replies, plunging back in for another kiss.

“Then I will fuck you later, just help me get this last box on the bonfire, and then we can let the fire die down.”

They work through the box with ease, laughing at Isak and Even who are play fighting in the water, and Maria and the girls run back up to the house to make popcorn, and Fredrik has gone back to following Andreas around like a shadow, which is good. Comforting. Just the way things should be around here. 

“Have you checked through all these?” Matteo says, holding up a large envelope. 

“Yes, why?” David replies, sending a pile of newspaper clippings into the fire. 

“Because, these letters are unopened. Dated...” He stops to read. “These are dated just a few years back. Perhaps they were forgotten about? They are addressed to Bella, and this one here has a book inside.”

“What?” David says, and grabs the envelope, calling for Even to come up out of the water. 

“It’s a book,” he says, staring at Matteo. 

“A book.” Matteo says back. Stating the fact. A paperback book, it’s cover shiny and the spine intact. It’s a brand new book, and David’s hand catches the paper that falls out of the envelope. 

“Even?” he shouts. 

“Yeah?”

“Dry off, you oaf, we’ve found something.”

“More dust,” Isak coughs, catching up with them. 

“No, no no no, I think. Fuck. Even. Fuck Fuck Fuck.”

“Does this translate to what I think it translates?” 

“Let me look.” 

Even grabs the book, and his breath hitches as he carefully scans the cover.

“ _Breven till Bella_.” David reads out in his broken attempt at Swedish. “That means ‘The Letters for Bella’, no?”

“ _The letters to Bella_.” Even almost whispers. “Look at the author. Erik Albrektson.”

“Read it,” David demands holding out the letter in his hand to Even’s face. “What does it say?”

_“Dear Bella, I haven’t had any response to any of my letters, but I hope they have reached you. My uncle’s letters were finally approved by the publisher, and after a few small edits and changes the book is complete. I hope that you will read it with kindness, because there are obviously private matters in his letters that I understand might be painful for you to relive, but I have given you the chance to read them before publishing, and please understand that I sincerely hope that you agree with his words being shared with the world, because as you must know, my uncle’s love for you was life long, and he would have wanted you to know that, despite the unbelievable fact that he wrote you these wonderful letters and never had the bravery to send them to you.“_

“Fuck!” David’s mouth can’t stop himself. 

“What?” Matteo shrieks.”Is this something new? Was Bella published?”

“No, you twat,” David hisses, “this, this here… Is a published book of letters that Erik wrote to Bella that she never recieved and bloody hell...”

“She never opened this. She didn’t know.”

“He says, or she says, fuck, It’s… The sender’s name is Terje Blomkvist, and he is… He’s Erik’s nephew? I think? There is an address, and an email. Thank god for that. I will email him, just hope he’s our age and is actually alive and still checks his email and all that. Is there more?” Even looks all flustered as Isak holds up two more envelopes.

“These are unopened, too.”

“You haven’t thrown anything else unopened into the fire?” Even shrieks, with panic in his voice.

“Just a bunch of newspaper clippings,” David says, his voice wobbling. “Oh fuck. I hope not?”

“What else is in that box?” Isak says, bending down and grabbing a newspaper article. Then his voice rings out:

_“The Letters to Bella, the award winning novel by poet Erik Albrektson has been nominated for the prestigious Nordic Council Literature Prize of 2020, where the winning novel is awarded a sum of 42,000 Euros. The Author Erik Albrektson, who passed away at the age of 47, has won several literary awards since his works were posthumously published in collaboration with Terje Blomkvist, Erik’s nephew, himself an author.”_

“Fucking hell. I’ve heard about _The letters to Bella_.” Even whinges. “I never joined the dots. Ever. The book won that award, this Terje bloke was interviewed on TV. It never even occurred to me…”

“You are related. Perhaps? No, you are not. You are related to Bella, and Erik was related to this Terje.”

“We could have been? Had Erik not been an arse and abandoned Bella? They could have married. There would have been kids, and those kids would have owned this place…”

“Instead we are here,” David says quietly. “And that's the way fate decided. Bella left this place to you, hoping you would give it the love it deserves. She gave it to you so this place could have it’s happy ending. That there would be a family here who were in love, where you could raise your kids, and perhaps, maybe she hoped you would retire here. Grow old among her appletrees and books, and love this place as much as she did. She gave it to you, and you now know why. “

“Perhaps you are right.”

“It says here,” Isak interrupts, reading from another article, “ _The letters to Bella_ has been translated into 45 languages and that there are talks about a film.”

“Fuck off,” Even splurts out. 

“We need to ring this Terje. We should go visit. Invite him over to see this place, and perhaps we should show him Bella’s diaries.”

“Perhaps we should not show him Bella’s diaries. Perhaps you should negotiate with your own people? Is this what Bella would have wanted?” David interrupts.

“I don’t know.” Even says weakly, holding the book to his chest. “I don't… I don’t know.”

“Then let’s just pack this box up and bring it back up to the house. We don’t have to make any decisions. We just take it up, and we can read through it. 

They walk in silence, the box in Even’s arms rustling quietly as he walks. 

“How did I not know?” Even almost whines.

“Nobody told you. Had we not found this box in time, then we would never have known. Once we get on wifi again, I will go online and order the book in German. I have to read it, I mean we know all these things about Bella, and now we get Erik’s side too. How amazing is that?”

“I want to meet this Terje. I’m not sure if I want to punch him or hug him. He had no right. That was Bella’s life, and he’s thrown it out there.”

“He wrote her letters, many times. There are quite a few in there, and she never opened them. Or perhaps she did, and then she stopped. We need to look through them and find out. But we do know that she knew about the book and did not try to stop it. If she wanted to stop it being published, she would have. Wouldn’t she?”

“Maybe she was just tired. Maybe she had had enough, and didn’t think it mattered anymore? I’d like to see the original letters, though. It feels like I have an obligation, to Bella. Perhaps to bring them home. Maybe we should have the letters burned and the ashes scattered here among the trees, where Bella is scattered. Perhaps, maybe. I don’t know. Perhaps I am being a sentimental fool again.”

“No, it’s a lovely thought. And I think, if this Terje, is a reasonable human, perhaps he would agree. Or maybe we can just be less ...dramatic...and we will come back here next summer, and we will read the book out loud under the trees for Bella. Let her have her words, read out to her in the sun.”

“David…?”

“Yeah?”

“Now you are being an over sentimental dramatic twat.”

They laugh, and it’s good. It’s good to laugh as they step into the kitchen that is brimming with the girls making popcorn, the smoke from the pan bellowing out the open windows where the mosquitoes are entering like there is an open invitation to feed. 

“You know what though?” Even says, lifting Lottie up and giving her a hug, as she squirms and laughs, trying to escape his grip.

“What?” David says, as he lets Lottie escape out the door, the tell tale sounds of her footsteps echoing up the stairs to Maria’s room.

“I think you need to come back. Next summer, promise me, promise me that we will do this again. And I will make plans, because we can perhaps do something for Bella. Remember her and all the things she did. Maybe you are right. We should talk to Terje. Celebrate the two of them. Remember the love they shared and do something with it. Make a documentary or something, something that shows the story behind the letters. The place where Bella lived. “

“You sound like you have the blurb and the taglines already in your head.” David laughs. “And we haven’t even read the book yet.”

“I know,” Even says, and grabs the book from the top of the box. “I’m going to read it first, and then process it.” 

“Sounds like a good plan,” David replies. “Let the words sink in. No rash decisions. We have time.”

“We have all the time in the world,” Even smiles.

David and Even walk down to the lake again later in the evening, when the kids are put to bed, or at least are inside the house. They sit on the slightly elevated grass next to the narrow beach stripe, resting their feet in the soft sand, watching the smoking remains of the bonfire. The sun is still up, but dusk is approaching and the sounds from the children have disappeared. They stayed up too long, of course, the twins will be a mess when they get back home and getting them back on track will be a nuisance but it has been worth it. Totally worth it.

“It was a good idea to put all the kids to sleep in the house. At least the teens probably won’t sleep until even later anyway, and then the three of them can just stay up watching the kiddos,” Even says. “Or maybe they all will stay awake, they will be a nuisance when we get back home again!” he adds as if he has some kind of mind reading capabilities.

David swallows and laughs, trying to hide his nervousness. “I guess it will be mostly Maria, then. The boys may be… occupied,” he says, feeling his face go pale when realizing.

Even jumps slightly, and David can hear his gulps through the silence, before they are laughing again. “Let’s talk about something else,” Even mutters, and David agrees, not really wanting to evolve further into the ideas of experimenting teenage boys.

They remain silent, listening to the tiny waves hitting the beach in the calm summer night. The sunrays are glowing orange at the glittering water, a few stray seagulls are flying high, David didn’t even know they lived so far inland, he thought they were coastal birds.

“Are they seagulls?” he asks.

Even looks up and shrugs. “I have no idea, really, but I think so.”

“I thought you were bird enthusiasts?” David laughs.

“Huh?” Even looks confused at him.

“The advertisement for the cabin sais this area was perfect for bird watching, so we imagined some kind of bird nerds with green khakis and hugs binoculars.”

Even laughs with a huge smile. “Those were Isak’s words,” he says. 

“So he is a bird man?” David smiles, he can’t really imagine Isak trekking in the wilderness to spot birds before sunset.

“No, but he read somewhere that there were rare birds in these forests and that bird watchers were interested in them, so he just added it to the ad, I think.”

“Maybe he thought the mosquitos were small birds?” David jokes as he hits a mosquito with his flat hand against his leg. Fresh blood stains his skin as he removes his hand. “Got you,” he mutters towards the leg.

Even leans back laughing. “Maybe,” he says. “Isak isn’t really the master of outdoor life.”

“What am I not?” Isak’s voice is suddenly behind them, before Isak sits down next to Even, handing him a cold beer can. David can feel Matteo slide down behind him, and leans back int his chest. His breath smells of fresh beer and his lips are cold against his own.

“You are not the master of outdoor life,” Even says between the small kisses he plants on Isak.

“Huh?” Isak tries to look insulted, but rips apart in chuckles a few seconds later. 

“You really aren’t,” Even laughs. “You can pretend all you want, but you really have no idea, Isak.”

Isak shrugs. “There are other values to life. Other values and other skills.”

“Renting this cabin was actually my idea,” David explains. He feels Matteo chuckling behind him and a hand strokes his upper arm. “Usually Matteo does all the work, coming up with places to go and what to do and all that. But he was busy and depressed and we needed to get away from the asphalt and smell and the city noise and find somewhere new, a fresh start. It turned up incidentally when I was searching for something else, I wanted a house with a pool facing the sea, the Mediterranean or the Adriatic Sea, and then Matteo started talking about going somewhere with museums and art and landmarks, so we could take Andreas on some kind of ‘cultural journey’, and we were on the edge of quarreling about it, probably some kind of silly disagreement too,” David says with a questioning glance at Matteo, who just shrugs, with his damned cute little smile stilling hanging on his lips. 

“And then your cabin turned up, and I said ‘ok, let’s go there, I don’t want to fight anymore now, fuck the Mediterranean and the museums, lets just go to the Finnish forests’. Matteo laughs behind him now. His fingers are tickling his neck. “And then Matteo started saying that ‘ok, we can go to the Mediterranean, ignore my wishes about museum, let’s go to the see and have a pool’. His voice was full of passive-aggressiveness, and I was about to start a fight, frustrated because he gave in so easily and frustrated because I didn’t get my own wish.”

“And then Lottie started wailing from their bedroom, and you just stood up and went to her room,” Matteo continues.

“Then you booked the cabin and the rest is history.” David leans his head back and pecks his lips for a kiss from Matteo.

David looks across the lake. The sun has disappeared behind the hills opposite them now, the lake is more dim in the darker shades. “The cabin reminded me of the cabin I used to spend the summers in when I was a kid,” he mutters. Matteo stills behind him. He has hardly told him about the cabin. The memories were hidden for so many years, memories from a past he didn’t bring with him, another life, another person.

“We had a small cabin north of Berlin,” David says. His eyes are locked at the horizon. The darkness of the forest on the opposite side meets the black water, they merge together to one dark matter. “It was my grandmother’s, my parents wouldn’t have afforded it,” he adds. “It was small, but I had my own room, I didn’t have to share with my sister as I did at home.” 

_“Deine Schwester,”_ Matteo whispers behind him and bumps his shoulder. David smiles at the running joke between them, always Laura.

“The room was really tiny,” he continues, trying to ignore Matteo’s warm body against his back. “But it faced the forest and felt like a little cave, nobody could look inside and I could close the door and put a chair in front of it and then I could be alone and do whatever I wanted there.” 

He draws his breath, remembering the pain and the fear when he had used a narrow scarf as binder under his grey t-shirt, and had to come up with an excuse when his father asked what the heck he had done to his t-shirt when he was forced to come out for dinner immediately. The scarf had no elasticity and was tied too tight, and he almost fainted at dinner before he could get back to his room and finally untied the knot that dug into his armpit. He remembers the panic when the knot slipped too far behind his back and he pulled a tendon in his arm trying to catch it and open it. 

Matteo calmly plays with his fingers, breathing warm air at his neck, the sound of him is calming. David draws his breath again. “I used to say I moved the furniture to draw,” he says. “And it was true, too, I had a roll of cheap, slippery brown paper that I used to pull out and draw these huge drawings on. I had to use markers to get any colour on the paper at all, often permanent markers, so the chemical smell was lingering in my room for days sometimes.”  
“Could explain a lot, baby,” Matteo giggles behind him.

“What?”  
Matteo just smiles at him, his small, joking expression. David hits him with his elbow. “Arschloch.”

“And when I saw the pictures of your cabin, I wanted to recreate the feeling of those holidays for my own kids,” he says.

“Did you manage to?” Even laughs, looking around at the open lake and the fields around them, probably thinking about how little cave-like this place is.

“No!” David laughs. “But this was better.” He smiles and raises his eyebrows. “You know, I kind of think we not only found the dream cabin, but also the dream men.” 

“What!” Matteo thwacks his head lightly. 

“Not like that, you moron,” he elbows again with a smile. “It feels like coming home. Like we found a family. A new one or another one.”

Even has pulled Isak closer. They don’t look at David now, but he can see them stare towards the other side, leaning towards each other, so similar, like brothers, it occurs to him, both of them tall and fair, yet, as he has learned, so different.

He thinks about the summer. Not only the cabin and the family, but the experiences and adventures for all of them, the nature, fresh air, the kids’ tent trip, elk safari, sheep, wild boar. Coffee, all the coffee they have been drinking, alone, together. Swimming in the lake, he is still warm from the sun burn he got on his chest recently, he forgot to apply sunscreen when they went to the lake the other morning, so used to keeping the t-shirt on, and then he found himself swimming in the water surface with the kids for hours.

“They haven’t been to your grandmother’s cabin?” Isak interrupts his flying thoughts.

David swallow and shakes his head. “No, they haven’t. Neither have Matteo. I haven’t seen them since… since I stopped being their daughter.” He swallows again, trying to stop the tears from welling in his eyes.

  
His face becomes wet and he feels his body shaking from the uncontrollable sobs. Matteo is holding him tight, his arm stretched around him, always there, always solid, always watching him. But there is something else, too, other hands, other smells, soft hair, more arms engulfing him, holding him, keeping him here. “You are not alone, David. None of you are. We are here for you. Always. _Du bist nicht allein._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. We're about to get there. We have decided to set a final number of chapters now. It feels a bit sad, but also nice, because the summer is over and the families are going home, and thus this summer adventure is over.
> 
> Which doesn't mean they won't meet again, of course. Or that their post-canon lives (Freudian slip: writing 'loves' in stead of 'lives', which also wasn't completely wrong) won't continue at random times and intervals.
> 
> But first. This chapter. A penny* for your thoughts?
> 
> *) "Penny (n.) 1. British bronze coin and monetary unit equal to one hundredth of a pound. 2. The amount of words combined into a new chapter following comments to this chapter."


	30. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been about ten weeks since summer, and Maria and Fredrik are visiting the Davenzis in Berlin.

“You can be friends and still kiss each other.” Andreas snarls from behind a crisp packet as Matteo throws another tube of Pringles in the shopping cart. 

Maria and Fredrik are out of earshot, and Matteo has taken a rare moment to try to make some sense out of Andreas frankly erratic behaviour. 

“I’m just worried about you,” he says quietly. 

“I’m fine. Freddie is fine. It’s all good.” Andreas smirks and sticks his tongue out.

This week has been intense, he can admit to that. He loves having Maria and Fredrik here, he can admit to that, too. The two of them had ran into his arms at the airport, accompanied by a surly airline representative asking for Matteo’s ID before finally letting him bundle the kids out of the arrivals hall, down to the car that he had parked somewhere miles away as always. Both of them chatting excitedly about their journey and flying on their own and obviously high on sugar from buying their own breakfast, and on top of that stinking from spraying each other with perfume samples in the arrivals Duty Free shop.

It had been worth it, though, just to see the smile on Andreas’ face as Fredrik kind of stumbled awkwardly over the threshold into the flat, falling almost exhaustedly into his son’s outstretched arms. 

“Freddie?” Matteo asks, raising a suspicious eyebrow. _Freddie now then? What happened to Fredrik?_ He can’t quite get a grip on these two boys and their messy friendship. He knows they talk every day, be it on chats or in gaming environments. He knows they fall out and make up on a daily basis that is easily read between the lines of Andreas moods. He knows Andreas can’t shut up about him. He sees the looks the two of them exchange, the smiles and the laughter. They are friends. Great friends. Definitely friends of the worrying kind, knowing what Matteo knows about heartbreak and figuring out who you are. 

_Leaving the gym now,_ comes the text from David. His David. 

David, who seems to be permanently exhausted from working full time again, and who stupidly pulled a hamstring trying to train for the Teachers association Christmas’ Marathon. He’s nuts, Matteo keeps telling him that. And of course Matteo is the one who had to work over the autumn holiday, since David has the week off, being a jammy teacher again, and on top of that, he has volunteered to organize this Halloween party for the 5 kids in his care, whilst David goes to the gym. It’s been. Yeah. Intense.

“Papi, can we get more Hanuta? And we need at least 2 packets of Duplo for the skeleton cake, and then if we get some of these mixed sweets we can use the googly eyes and marshmallows for the face. We got Maria some Milchschnitte, she has never had them, she doesn’t even know what it is! We have to buy some so she can try them. We got two packets.” 

Lilly is jumping up and down, her hands bulging with sweet packets, and Lottie is still riding on Maria’s back like some clingy baby. 

“Mind Maria’s back,” Matteo lectures, getting a typical eye roll from Maria as she throws a packet of salad in the trolley. 

“For dinner,” she says, side eyeing the frozen pizza’s Matteo has loaded up. Like a loser. He has clinic tomorrow morning, and to be honest he is too exhausted to cook anything that doesn’t slide effortlessly from the packet into the microwave oven. 

“We need breakfast foods too, the two of you finished the cereal this morning like there was a national shortage of food coming on.” He sniggers as Fredrik slings his arm over Andreas shoulders and Andreas grins like a fool. 

“We are growing young men. You can’t kind of survive on just _one_ bowl of cereal in the morning,” he says smiling like it’s funny. 

“Instead you had like 5 bowls each, emptying out every box in the cupboard.”

“Cereal is nice,” Andreas says, a massive smile on his face. 

“You should be eating porridge,” Matteo says. “Fills you up for the day, and none of those nasty sugars.” 

“Eugh,” Fredrik says. “Pappa makes us porridge when he has forgotten to buy something fast to make before my early football practice, and it’s like cardboard and water. Your cereal is much nicer.”

“Can we buy some of this Chocolate and Orange Muesli?” Andreas says, picking at the boxes on the shelf. “Looks nice.”

“It’s like having dessert for breakfast,” Matteo sighs, as Lottie grabs a packet of some Disney branded cereal off the shelf and throws it in the trolley shouting: _Delicious and Nutritious!_ Mimicking the ads on TV. 

“No more junk foods.” 

“We still need dip, and soft drinks,” Maria says, scanning the list in Matteo’s hand.

“Do you really need biscuits?” he questions as Maria nods her head. Ah. Ok.

“What about having some soup?” He tries. It’s Halloween. That means soup and shit. He thinks. “We could have some bread rolls and butter, and soup.”

“You are so grown up, Papi.” Andreas laughs. “Nobody wants bloody soup. A few pizzas for the oven, crisps and sweets and cakes. It will be epic. You and Vati can have soup and eat it in your bedroom out of sight. Can you please at least leave the apartment for an hour or two?”

“Honestly? Again?” Matteo sighs. It’s been an ongoing issue since they arrived. David would prefer to stay, and Matteo can’t say he blames him. The three of them and their friends on their own partying in their flat with no parental supervision? Well, technically they are not alone and Andreas has been the perfect tour guide, dragging them around all his favourite places, whilst Lilly and Lottie have sulked at not being allowed to come along, and David even resorted to putting the twins in the school holiday club for a day to cheer them up, which only meant that they cried their eyes out at not being with Maria for a whole day. 

“Lils and Lots are going to Grandma’s overnight.” Andreas says, locking eyes with Matteo. “You could go to the cinema. Vati wants to see that new Alexander Fehling film. You could take him.”

“I could watch a film at home. In bed. With Vati,” Matteo counters, giving his son a firm stare.

“You could be a decent trusting father and cut us some slack,” Andreas returns. 

“I trust you, and I know you would be fine, but I can’t just go out and leave all of you in the flat for a few hours with live candles and god knows how many other people that you have invited to this party. “

“I met Ingo and Pierre and Guzman yesterday.” Maria says, always trying to be the diplomat among them. “They were really nice. I promise I will keep the guys under control.”

“Guzman.” Fredrik says, with a wink. “ _Guuuzman_.”

“He flirted with Maria to the point that she threatened to kick him in the nuts.” Andreas laughs. “She was hardcore. I bet you anything he is crushing hard on you now.”

“See? I can’t leave.” Matteo says, flicking his fringe out of his eyes. “Someone has to be there to protect Maria’s virtue.”

“What does that word mean? What you just said? _Virtue_ , what does Virtue mean?” Lottie asks, skipping alongside the trolley.

“Nevermind,” Matteo says far too quickly, sending the girls on a hunt for yoghurt and butter, whilst Andreas and Fredrik are looking at packs of cheese, talking suspiciously too excitedly for Matteo’s liking, pretending their conversation is all about dairy products. Or not. He has no doubts they are making stupid plans to get him and David out of the house. He will stand firm. Not fall for any of their tricks. 

He stops and fishes his phone out of his coat pocket, scanning the messages. 

_David: I’m home, and the place is trashed. Where are you and all those gorgeous kids of ours?_

_Even: I haven’t heard from the kids all day. Are they still alive or have you had enough and finally thrown them all under a bus?_

_Even: Or a tram. Forgot that you guys have trams too. Have they spent all their cash? Let me know if they need more, I can top up their cards if needed._

_Even: How is the party plans coming along? Get Fredrik to bake some bread rolls. He’s good at those._

_Mama: Can’t wait to see the girls tomorrow night. I have made stew for them, and bought juice. Am I allowed to give them sweets? I just wanted to check. I don’t want you to get upset at me if I feed them sweets._

_Isak: All good?_

It’s all good. He is doing good. He thinks, as he throws some random bottles of red wine in the trolley from the top shelf. They are all on special offer, and to be honest he is too exhausted to even check what they are. He needs a glass of red wine or two to night once he has successfully negotiated the tram home, with a trolley full of shopping and 5 children and himself. 

He throws another bottle of red in for good measure, and takes a deep breath before calling for the boys to keep up. The girls are nowhere to be seen and the boys haven’t even noticed him as he pushes the trolley past them towards the checkouts. 

He texts them all instead, pushing the words into his phone a little too vigorously than probably needed.

_CHECKOUTS, NOW_. he sends into the groupchat, and he laughs looking back at the boys who simultaneously check their phones. Of course neither of them move. 

So he throws the wine up on the belt and nods politely at the checkout lady. 

It’s been a long week. A long day. 

Home. Wine. Sleep.

Two days later Matteo still hasn’t slept. It’s not that he can’t, it’s just that living in a flat with 5 children who just won’t sleep at night is taking its toll on his sanity. At least Lilly and Lottie have been safely deposited with his Mother, who looked frankly ecstatic at the thought of some alone time with the girls, whilst Matteo yawned and coughed and blew his nose, wishing that he could just throw himself down on his old childhood bed and sleep for an hour or two. Instead him and David are now sitting at the Indian restaurant down the road from their flat, picking at poppadoms and giggling like schoolboys at the complicated menu, and hoping that whatever they order won’t make their taste buds explode.

“I want the lamb chops and a side of chilli paneer,” David says, and slams the menu down onto the table, whilst Matteo flicks a well aimed piece of poppadom at him.

“I’m sticking with korma,” he says, feeling defeated. 

“You’re such a child,” David smiles. “Korma is like the Happy meal of Indian cuisine. It’s pretty much cream and sugar with some token chicken thrown in.”

“But it’s nice and I won’t have heartburn for the rest of the week,” Matteo mutters and smothers another piece of poppadum in the yogurt raita in front of him.

He spills half of it down his chin, again, making David roll his eyes and dig his phone out. 

“Maria says all is good,” he says, his fingers working across the screen. 

“Thank god for Maria,” Matteo laughs. “Those boys are still on a different planet. No clue about what is going on around them.”

“Babe,” David says, putting his phone back down. “You do realize they are probably having sex?”

“What?” Matteo coughs, then laughing at David’s blushed expression. “Of course they are having… well, I don’t think they are having actual sex. Perhaps. I don’t really want to think about it. Well, for all we know, Fredrik hasn’t slept on that mattress on the floor, it’s full of junk and bags.”

“They are having sex. I changed the sheets this afternoon, trying to make the house presentable. They were. Well. Fuck.”

“Ah.” Matteo laughs. “Shit, this is awkward. They are kids.” 

“Yeah. But at least Andreas is responsible and I know he has any supplies he might need. I bought him loads a while back.”

“I didn’t find any evidence of wrappers or condoms.” David almost whispers.

“We are not supposed to go looking for shit like that.” Matteo whispers back. “We are cool and responsible. Andreas is 15. He will be having sex, anyway. Don’t go and search his room, that is the kind of stuff he will blow a fuse about.”

“I know, I don’t want to. But, the bed was kind of. Yeah.”

“I don’t want to know.” Matteo squirms. “We are having dinner. Can we talk about something that doesn’t involve bodily fluids?”

“How was work?” David laughs.

“Full of bodily fluids. Dr Rametta and I removed an anal absess before lunch, and then did a Vaginoplasty after. It was a good day. Interesting.”

“We are having dinner, babe.” David looks a little pale.

“Then let’s talk about something that doesn’t involve bodily fluids.” 

“Like sex?” David laughs and Matteo throws another piece of Poppadom at him.

“No, like Christmas. Do you think it’s achievable, what Even was saying?”

“Yes, I mean it’s bloody expensive, but the flights are still cheap?” 

“And no hotel costs, and we should offer to pay half the food, and we can bring sleeping bags and stuff.”

“We won’t need 5 sleeping bags. Andreas won’t need one.”

“We said we wouldn’t talk about sex.”

“No sex.”

“We need to think of Christmas presents. We need something for Fredrik and Maria, and then something nice for Even and Isak.”

“Like what? I hate presents. Bloody glass bowls or vases or shit like that?”

“No, we can get them some Jagermeister, and a couple of bottles of nice German Riesling perhaps? Something local.”

“Nice and thoughtful.” Matteo sighs. “Boring.”

“I can’t think of anything else.”

“We haven’t even said yes, yet.”

“Well, that’s something we can tick off the list then.” David says, holding his phone up as the waiter approaches them to take their order.

Matteo orders, hoping he got it all right, probably making a mess pronouncing all the names wrong, despite the waiter assuring him that nothing is too spicy. They have eaten here before and Matteo knows the drill. If you ask for non spicy they throw a few chillis on there for fun. David loves it. Matteo’s stomach not so much.

“Hey!!!” Even’s face is staring at him from the screen in David’s outstretched hand. “You are coming for Christmas then?”

“Yeah?” Matteo says, then bursts out laughing as Isak’s naked form whizzes past the screen, behind Even.

“What?” Even says, looking behind him as Matteo explodes with laughter.

“You were shagging. Sorry to interrupt.”

“Nah, we were pretty much done.” Even says, like it’s totally normal, whilst Isak can be heard shouting something in the background.

“How are the boys?” Even laughs.

“Weird.” Matteo shakes his head. “We have no clue what's going on, but they are happy and Maria assures me that all is going well and that they are having a ball. We haven’t seen the police or the fire brigade approach the flat and we have curry and naan bread coming our way in a few minutes, so I’m a happy man,” Matteo declares as David snatches the phone back.

“How did your meeting with Terje go?” he asks as Even launches into a long rant about publishing rights and proposals and a pilot and finding a script writer. Things that no doubt David will explain in fewer words so that they will make sense. Even is planning a documentary series. Things are going well, and a follow up to the ‘’Letters to Bella’’ is something that they are considering, should the right offer be made. With Isak trying to get into in his new project manager job, "he probably picked up some tricks along the road", Even being busier than normal and the kids being away, the Norwegians are obviously making the most of the weeks holiday. 

“We would obviously contribute to the food and board,” David says, and Matteo grabs the phone back as Isak’s face fills the screen.

“Are you sure that you want this? It’s a lot to deal with, having us all come for Christmas,” he says as Isak laughs and shakes his head.

“It will be mayhem. Total mayhem, but isn’t that what Christmas is about? Family and fun and food and a big fuck off Christmas tree? Even is already making lists of what to cook, and you already know Fredrik and Maria will be over the moon to have you all back. You’re family, after all. And, anyway, why would you like to be in Berlin over Christmas? We have snow. Sledding. Skiing. Beer. We have good beer.”

“Fuck off.” Matteo laughs.”Your beer is like coloured water. I will be shipping over a crate of Weissbier, and some Jagermeister so we can have some proper Christmas drinks. 

“Bah.” Isak says. “Weissbier is like pisscolored marsh water. We have IPA. Gløgg. Gingerbread biscuits. Proper shit.”

“We will bring Lebkuchen. You guys don’t even know what you are missing out on. And marzipan!”

“We have marzipan,” Even sulks. “I make my own. It’s kick-ass good.” 

“And anyway that Glogg thingy is like our Gluhwein. Same shit.”

“It’s not,” David protests. “It’s like sweet warm juice.”

“We put vodka in ours. Spirits. Make it hard.”

“We are not getting drunk with the kids.”

“We are so getting drunk without the kids. We will let Even’s parents take the kids to their cottage for the day and we can get pissed and go on a pub crawl.” Isak get’s something dreamy in his eye and Even’s face appears on the screen again.

“We would love to have you. We miss you. It’s been ages, and I mean. Come on. The kids would love it. We have proper snow. And we live in a proper house, so there is plenty of space, we have a guest room and an extra living room and all, and the office, and you know the kids will all bundle up in their rooms.”

“Yeah.” Matteo laughs and meets David’s eyes. 

“We’re coming.” David says, grabbing the phone back. “We're a family and we’re spending Christmas together.”

“Yay!” Even cheers from hundreds of miles away, and Matteo smiles. 

Family eh? Well. He supposes they are. Family. He looks over at David who is talking excitedly into the phone, smiling with his eyes wide open, full of sparkle and happiness. He smiles. 

Because Life is good. Life is good, despite it sometimes being a total fuckup. He is loved. He loves. He has family. Good people around him.

His phone lights up with a message, making his breath hitch as he reads it.

Maria: _All is good, but we burnt the pizzas and the fire alarm is going off like crazy. Do you know how to switch it off? There is no button on the one in the kitchen and it’s driving us all mad. Help?_

Life is good. Sometimes it’s better than other times. And sometimes the little lies are good too. 

_No idea,_ he texts back. _Open the windows and stick some earplugs in your ears_. 

He chuckles and nods at the waiter delivering their food. 

_Red button on the wall panel by the stove. Don’t worry about it. Order some takeaway pizzas if they are inedible, Andreas has the app on his phone. Have fun!_

“We’re going to Oslo!” David shrieks and puts the phone down. 

“Extra spicy Vindaloo,” Matteo chuckles. 

“Indian Happy Meal for you then.” David sticks his fork in Matteo’s bowl and takes a bite. “Yum. Sugared chicken.”

“Fuck off.” Matteo smiles.

Life? Life is good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I guess we're here, then? At the end. Good bye.
> 
> Thanks for all your lovely comments, opinions and thoughts. It has fueled us a lot!
> 
> I don't quite remember when we got the idea about writing something together, but I guess it was around May, a couple of months before summer. The initial plan was some real time summer stuff. Well, you see how well THAT went! At least pagni got to finish her handball fic first, but poor Infinity and the naked cleaner somehow ended up in... infinity. Sorry about that - hopefully Sophia will have more time for those babies now! (And there may be more pagni-stuff, too!)
> 
> Writing with you have been a blast, Sophia. In the beginning we kind of co-wrote, at least we had a plot and a storyline. But to those who have followed us for a while it shouldn't come as a surprise that we kind of lost it... at least we didn't end up in Finland! (No offense to you lovely Finns out there, but this was a running joke between us.) So after about ten chapters or so we wrote a complete chapter and left a nice little cliffhanger for the other, followed by loud swearing and then heavy editing on the other's chapter (but not the cliff hanger!). Because all the way it has been a co-writing project, we have been liberally active in eachother's chapters, and been honest about faults and flaws and lack of commas. (And I think we did it. Except that incident with the random car appearing. But hey.)
> 
> And As Sophia is without laptop Pagni has had to post the last couple of chapters. But thank you for reading, laughing, commenting and kudosing. Writing together has been hilarious, we are both as good / bad as eachother, and there is a whole chapter of deleted scenes where Pagni shouted NEI VILDE at Sophia and then Sophia went in and pitched random smut in Pagnis chapters in revenge. Told you. Cowriting is fun.   
> Will there be more? Would that be a safe and sane idea? Who knows!! Sit tight. All the love S and P xxx


	31. That Epilogue Christmassy thingy part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soooo... a few years have passed and it's Christmas. The Davenzi family are once again heading to Oslo, because that is what they do, every year. The kids are all grown up, and everyone is behaving like adults. Or....are they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is all the mad idea of Sophia and Pagni is screaming in the background telling me to calm down. She has promised to rein this in. All will be well. But what did happen to Fredrik and Andreas? And Aunt Bella? Well, we thought we would treat you to that Christmassy Epilogue thingy....
> 
> Sit tight for Exclusive fan art. We have surprises.

BERLIN. December.

_Life Is good and other lies -the Epilogue sequel christmassy thingy_

**ANDREAS**

This is awkward. Yup. Like…you know when things have gotten super strange over the years and you grow up and realize that you have spent most of your teenage years being a total twat? That’s me. Yes. You know. The guy who thinks he is all cool and worldly and in touch with his feelings and all that shit.

I should blame my parents, but then? My parents are the best. Sometimes. Sometimes my Vati is a complete bastard and pulls on all my strings in the worst ways. Sometimes my Papi needs to _not_ be so laid back that he is practically horizontal. My sisters are brats. Me? I’m a total fuck up. 

I used to be quite good at all the school stuff, and graduated ok. Then? Then we spent that summer, the one after I graduated, with my parent’s best friends. Well, they are family really. Uncle Isak and Uncle Even. We all go on holiday, every bleeding year. Then we go to Oslo for Christmas, and they come over here for Easter, and then we holiday in summer, and we all go to Oslo Pride and they come here for Berlin Pride, and then. Well after that summer, things were never the same. Not for me, anyway. 

I crashed and burned that autumn. Couldn’t get out of bed. Hated myself. Hated everything and everyone. Papi didn’t help, even though he’s like a super trained medical person. He let me spend a year locked away in my room gaming and smoking shit I should never have gone near. I said I was fine. Papi shrugged his shoulders. Vati screamed the house down. I gamed. Smoked. Slept. Chilled.

Not that that was a problem, apart from that I kind of lost a year of my life. I was calling it a gap year. Papi was trying to get me to go to Oslo and get a job. Any job. Experience life. Travel. Go stay with Even and Isak. Reconnect with Fredrik and Maria. Vati just stared at me and sighed. Kissed my forehead and locked me out of the flat until I agreed to let him take me to a therapist.

Yeah. Like that would have worked out. I went. Shut my mouth. Never went back.

The last time I saw Maria she wanted to kick my skinny arse to kingdom come. Also, she now teaches Physics and conducts studies in Guatemala or someplace saving the rainforest and campaigning for climate change.

Fredrik. Let’s not talk about Fredrik. Because shit like that messes you up.

Instead I have now managed, somehow, to complete a degree in behavioural nursing and I work with young adults with varying degrees of autism. I rotate my shifts between a few group homes, and even though you would think, it’s just a job, it’s not. You connect with these people. Create bonds and trust, and somehow. Fucking hell, I sound grown-up. Like I kind of mean all those sentences my mouth spouts out when I have the monthly meetings with concerned parents and the staff and the kids. Some of them are not kids. I deal with adults. Grown men and women who have amazing full lives despite disabilities that would cripple people like you and me.

I suppose that makes me an adult too. Like life threw me a curveball, and without realizing, I kind of took it and ran with it. Grew up.

I moved away from home, rented a nice flat, missed everyone, decided to take on a few more courses, and then moved back home. At 25. Not the brightest thing to do, but I want to buy a flat, and I am saving up for a deposit and anyway, Vati and Papi didn’t mind, even though Papi keeps threatening to turn my old room into a pinball haven.

The girls though, now I think I am turning into my Dads. Lilly is the worst, she is out every weekend, barely comes home, has this myriad of boyfriends who come and go, and the amount of times I have stumbled out in the kitchen only to find some half-naked guy standing with his head in the fridge drinking milk out of the carton? Disgusting shit. (Yeah, that was probably me, several times over in my younger days.)

Lottie spends all her time on Tinder. Cruising for a bruising if you ask me, not Lott’s, but the poor guys she hooks up with. She gets all excited and I sit and sigh, watching her scroll through these unsuspecting guys who have no idea yet that my sister comes with standards. Ideals. Expectations. She will not just expect a date, she expects a lifetime commitment to her world, her future and the future of our planet. So, it’s no surprise that she is back on the sofa grumpier than ever this morning when I roll out into the living room.

“Good date?” I tease. Because she does exactly what I expect her to do. Roll her eyes and stick her tongue out.

“Lilly stayed over at that Axel guy’s again.”

“Axel?”

“Yeah the short skinny guy who can’t stand still.”

“The one Vati calls the Duracell bunny.”

“Yeah. She’s into him. No idea why.”

“I suppose he’s cute. If you are into bunnies.”

She sighs deeply.

“What was wrong with the guy last night?”

“Just wanted to fuck. Said all the right things and then just wanted to know if we were going back to his or mine. I told him to sit and spin.”

“You don’t give people a chance. Perhaps he’s just bad at conversation?”

Yeah. She just stares at me. Eyes black with hate. Not that she hates me. I love my sisters, and they adore me. At least I think they do. Sometimes.

“You’re really coming with us to Oslo for Christmas?”

“Yeah.”

“You never come anymore.”

“Well you go every year, and I’ve been working.”

“And now this year you are suddenly not working.”

“Nope.”

“Got nothing to do with the fact that Fredrik is back from College in the States and for the first time in years we will all be there.”

“Nope. Got nothing to do with the threatening emails from Isak either. He told me that he would personally come and escort me from Berlin if I didn’t turn up. Sometimes he’s more controlling than Vati.”

“Vati is not controlling, he will whip your butt if he hears you say that.”

“ _I can hear you, you ungrateful brats,_ ” immediately comes from the bedroom across the hall. Yeah, because My Vati hears everything.

“You are as bad as Isak when it comes to making me do things I don’t want to do.” I retaliate, throwing myself down on the sofa with a creak just as Vati appears, still trying to tie up his dressing gown around his waist.

“Why have you not lit the candles? It’s almost Christmas. We have candles. Let’s make this place a bit homely.” Vati is suddenly scurrying around with Papi's cigarette lighter, putting the bloody flat on fire with all his candles.

“Just because I am the only woman around these days," Lottie huffs, "it shouldn’t be up to me to make this place liveable. Honestly Vati, sometimes I feel like I share this flat with a bunch of uni students, not a qualified nurse, a surgeon and a teacher. I mean, look at us.”

“Is there coffee?” Vati yells from the kitchen. “None of you made coffee?”

“Where is Papi? It’s his job?”

“He was in theatre until 2 this morning, major complications apparently. They saved someone’s life.”

“Well done, Papi,” I mutter. “He can still get up and make us coffee.”

“You can still get up and make us coffee, Andreas.” Vati huffs and comes over to kiss my forehead as he does. He’s still as affectionate as ever, even though all of us are grown up.

“You need to start being grown-ups,” he mutters. “But you can’t move out. Or get married. Or have kids. I’m not becoming a granddad yet. No kids. Use condoms.”

“Yes Vati, dear,” I huff. “Responsible sex. We know.”

“How was your date Lottie?” Vati asks, smothering Lottie in kisses.

“Or no sex.” Lottie sighs. “He was just like the others Vati. An arse.”

“But you spoke to him on the phone, and said he was nice.”

“He was nice. Not Right. It needs to be right.”

“You can have casual sex, Lotts. It’s not forbidden,” I insert, like the nice big brother I am.

“I don’t like casual sex. I want commitment. I want a boyfriend. I want someone to share my life with. Lilly can do the casual sex all she wants, but it’s not for me.”

“That’s fine sweetie,” Vati says and hurries back to the kitchen.

He’s funny, and Lottie and I share a brief giggle. He’s the one who tells us to talk openly about sex in the house. Then he runs off and hides when we do. Like he hasn’t heard it all by now. I even told him about my catastrophic threesome, and Papi laughed so much that I was worried he would have a heart attack over dinner, yet Vati couldn’t look me in the eyes for days after. Not my fault. He asked. I told.

“You haven’t seen Fredrik in years. Do you even message each other anymore?”

“Nope. He’s got a nice girlfriend. Apparently.”

“You are still his friend.”

“He’s like at some big fuck off college in the States and plays American football and is all worldly. I still live at home and can’t find anyone who wants to be with me.”

“You’re just boring and grumpy.”

“I’m hot and educated. I just don’t think dating and hook-ups work for me. I just want to come back to my own bed at night and sleep.”

“You still hook up with people. That’s normal. Just get yourself laid once in a while and you seem all happy and satisfied. Why are you complaining?”

“I’m not complaining. It’s just not my thing.”

“Your thing is Fredrik. We all know. Your first love.”

“Shut up, Lotts.”

“So, for the first time in like a million years, the great mystery that is Andreas, is coming back to Oslo for Christmas.”

“I have spent plenty of Christmases in Oslo.”

“Remember the first year, when Even had that big episode and we ended up on our own in the house and had this brilliant Christmas party. Isak was with Even at hospital and Dad was running Vati backwards and forwards and we just had the best Parent-free Christmas ever.”

“Even was really unwell, Lotts. It wasn’t all fun.”

“No, but he had made all that food and we lived like Kings for days. Remember that snowball fight we had in the garden in the middle of the night? Oh. Those sweets. He’s promised to make me a whole jar of butter toffees to take home this year.”

“Even loves you, Lotts, you’ve always been his favourite. He even did German Duolingo so he could speak to you properly when you couldn’t speak English.”

“He still texts me in German. It’s kind of sweet.”

“Anyway, I came that year when we all went skiing.”

“Yeah, that was fun. You and Fredrik had stopped speaking to each other and Maria kept calling you Idiot one and Idiot two.”

“Then I came the year after.”

“Yeah, because Fredrik was in America. It was the most drama free Christmas in Oslo ever.”

“We went to that Christmas play at the theatre, and you both fell asleep.”

“It was in bloody Norwegian, of course I fell asleep!”

“The ice-skating is always fun. And the mulled wine.”

“Isak gets us all drunk on the first night. It’s tradition. There are Jaeger bombs poured before we even have our boots off.”

“Vati is so funny when he is drunk.”

“We should get him drunk more often.”

“ _I can hear you!!”_ Comes from the kitchen.

“So, you are all chill with seeing the love of your life again? After all these years?”

“Lottie…”

“You will take one look at him, all muscular and blonde and handsome and then you will jump him and maul him in the hallway, dry humping the poor dude in front of his parents.”

“I’m not gay, Lottie. And I am not in love with Fredrik.”

“Fuck off, Andreas.”

“I’m serious! It’s some kind of fucked up thing in this family, all of you trying to make me all gay with Fredrik all of the time.”

“See? Hit a nerve?”

“Calm down, Lottie.” Vati says calmly, placing three steaming cups of coffee in front of us. “We are just pointing out that you and Fredrik always had something special, and you haven’t seen each other for years, and it will be lovely for you to reconnect.”

“Reconnecting is fine. We can discuss college life versus German Nursing schools, drink Jaeger bombs and watch weird Norwegian shit on TV. Christmas will be thrilling.”

“Andreas…” Vati warns as Lottie bursts into giggles.

“You adore Fredrik. Still. I can see it in your eyes. You go all panic stricken and weird when we even mention Freee..”

“Fredrik has a girlfriend in America. Maria hates my guts. Even and Isak will whip my butt for not visiting over summer and anyway, I have to buy them a big present to bribe them to even talk to me.”

“Even and Isak love you like a son, and they will just hug the shit out of you as usual. Anyway, we saw Even and Isak at Pride in August, so it’s not like they haven’t seen you in years. They can’t wait for all of us to be there this year.”

“And Maria’s boyfriend, and Fredrik’s girlfriend. It will be delightful,” I snarl.

“Fredrik’s girlfriend is not coming, I told you that.” Vati says sternly. He’s pissed off with me already, and we haven’t even had breakfast.

“Whatever,” I huff.

Awkward. This whole thing is going to be super awkward. Because these trips always are. And Fredrik? My world used to spin around the strange blonde boy who was my best friend for a few weird years. He lit up my world. Then he fucked off. Well he fucked off because I told him to. I was stupid and scared. I think he was too.

Awkward. That’s not even the start of it.


	32. That Epilogue Christmassy thingy part 2

**FREDRIK**

I am going home. Home alone. The phrase itself reminds me of an old movie my dad loves. Isak, for anyone who cares, Even doesn’t stand the humour for some reason. Nobody ever understood why.

I graduated a few years ago, my prestigious degree in Particle Physics, my diploma thesis written without inspiration just to get over it, about some useless theorethical problem nobody but a hardcore academic would see any use for. And I was not that. I was not depressed. Isak asked me several times, and I am pretty sure I neither am or nor have been depressed. I am just tired of it all.

The career run. The aspiration for more. The encouragement to be best, to achieve, to boost. The awards and prizes and competitions. The winner takes it all. Nobody could ever be last, they would be regarded as failures.

“But you have to be polite and let someone else be last,” Even told me once when my teacher complained about my distracted slow pace in the cloakroom when our class would go out during the breaks and I was to last one to get dressed. I was in first grade then. I still remember my teacher’s sour face. “She looked like Maria did when she was tasting lemons,” I told my dads in the warm, dry car on our way home. The rain drummed in a steady stream against the windows. My gray sweatpants had dark spots of water, and a bag stuffed with wet rain gear was in the trunk. My friend Alexander and I had tested if our rain gear would hold out the water when we lied down in the small pond in the school yard. It didn’t.

I don’t know why I remember this. Maybe it’s the weather outside the airport express bus to Los Angeles airport, the unusual low clouds are drizzling rain, stripes of water are running across the window panes. It’s the last time I am travelling home from America now, I won’t go back. Or if I do, it will be for vacations, and that’s different.

Seven years all packed up in a backpack. Mostly clothes, a few other things. My laptop is in my carry-on bag, I could probably have charmed the backpack into the cabin, too, to speed up on the other side, but I won’t do it. I don’t feel like smiling at strangers today. I will just slide through the airport like an anonymous man, someone who doesn’t care, someone who isn’t cared for. I just wanna go home for Christmas.

Bringing Emily back was never the plan, yet Isak asked me twice if I am sure she won’t come. Of course she is not. She was never going to, she was never going to leave her all-American family in New Mexico and in particular she was never going to after Isak told me that Andreas would accompany David and Matteo this year, for the first time in who knows how many years. Scratch that. I know perfectly well for how many years. Seven years. Seven years, seven Christmases. Six Christmases after the first one I skipped.

I moved to Boston that autumn. No, I fled. I haven’t admitted it before, but that was what I did. I had just finished my second year at NTNU, planning an exchange term after Christmas. I had researched German universities. Berlin, Essen, Bonn, Göttingen, Hamburg, NTNU had lots of exchange agreements, and I for some reason had managed straight A’s through my first two years of Mathematics and Physics, so being accepted would be a triviality, especially as I had just passed my Goethe-Zertifikat at B2-level. Nobody knows that, though, not after the collapse. My tutor was surprised when I called him during his summer vacations and begged if he could help me get exchange somewhere right now. I didn’t say why and he didn’t press me, just nodded and talked to some colleagues, and a week later I was sweating over my motivational letter for Boston University.

I was accepted immediately, apparently my tutor had a big hand in that, and left Trondheim just days before my third year was due to start there, barely landing in Oslo to dump my stuff before heading to the USA. My dads were worried and curious and torn about my sudden change of plans, but I said it was just an opportunity that opened and that is was too good to let go. Nobody argued that, of course. My dad knows his academia.

Maria, with her own juggling of studies and student activities at the student society in Trondheim, saw through me and tried to interrogate me about what happened. She said she had talked to Andreas and that he had told her everything, but I knew it was just a trick to get me to tell. He wouldn’t say anything about what happened, I knew him that well. Even if I apparently didn’t know him as well as I thought.

My fathers cried when I left. They wanted me to stay for a few days, to come home for fall break, they would pay for my tickets, to go with them to Sweden or Germany or England or Spain or wherever they were going that fall break.

Well, France, actually. I knew the exact address and exterior and interior of the airbnb house they rented in Figeac, between Montpellier and Bordeaux. Wine, food, pool, chilling, long dinners, more wine. I knew how they would disperse the bed rooms. Morning sun and view for the parents, the house had two large bedrooms with king size beds overlooking the valley. The girls in the other end, two bedrooms, the twins would share.

And two rooms in the attic, far away from everyone, or at least a creaky flight of stairs winding up from the corridor outside the living room. Narrow windows still providing a beautiful view. A shared bathroom between the rooms, both of them identically equipped with a queen size bed, wardrobe and a desk. We would have chosen one room each, but I knew we would have ended up in the one to the left of the bathroom, because it had the bed to the right of the door, which was how my room in Oslo was, our one stable point in the universe, the place we always met.

Until that summer.

I was a successful student in Boston. I ended up completing my degree there, but instead of applying for the PhD program of my professor, I worked a bit, travelled a bit, ended up in California and applied for a PhD in environmental physics at UCSB. The years there are kind of a haze. It was Emily, of course. But before her it was Jennifer, Eric, Christina, Jamie, Shamil and some others.

I tried. I really tried. My fathers have been together since they were 17, it’s like a lifetime together. We know the story about how they found and lost and found and lost and found and then never lost again. It’s like a fairytale, like one of my father’s movies, even if Isak is teasing him that it’s not an epic love story if nobody dies and they get all sappy and soft.  
I also wanted that. I somehow thought Andreas was the one, when we were teenagers. But then he wasn’t and I don’t know what I did wrong or why it happened.

My flights home to Oslo this time were chaotic and stressing and full of people going somewhere for Christmas. I somehow managed to wrap myself into my own bubble of blankets and cheap pillows and dozed over Canada, then watched the ice over Greenland in wide eyed jetlagged wonder. I barely registered landing in Paris before rushing through CDG, a mishmash of then-futuristic architecture from last century and modern energy-saving solutions that made me dizzy. I barely caught my flight and dozed off again once I hit my seat. I felt calmer now, home was getting closer, if it was still home, I wondered before my brain shut off.

“Fredrik!” My dad’s arms are long and warm around me outside the arrivals gate. I drop my bag and the backpack on the floor, my eyes are wet, my god, how much I have missed him. I lean into his chest and try to sniff him, the well-known smell of his shampoo and aftershave and detergent, his stubbles scratching against my clean cheek, hair trickling my lips. I just breathe him for who knows how long, seconds, minutes, I don’t care.

I am finally home again.

“Where is Isak?” I ask when he let go of me. He scrunches his nose when I dry my own with the back of my hand, a well-knowing smile on his lips.  
“Here!” Another set of arms hook me up from behind and lock around my chest and upper arms. I laugh-wrestles to get him off me, knowing exactly where to tickle him to make him a pile on the ground in seconds. If I can just get my hand behind and up….  
“Nope,” he laughs while holding me tighter. “I know what you’re up to, and I am not letting you do that.”

Even is standing in front of us laughing. “Stay calm, Fredrik,” he says while taking a step closer. “I got you!”

Isak unhooks his arms and chuckles. “Maybe we should behave like adults. Since we’re apparently three adults here now.” He looks me up and down. “You have grown, son,” he says. His voice is low and raspy. He clears his throat.

For a minute we’re all silent. I shake my head. “Come on, dads, don’t get all sappy. Take me home and feed your lost son a piglet. I am starving.”  
“I think it was a calf,” Even mumbles.  
“Doesn’t matter. Maria has probably made something vegetarian anyway.”

Isak stops in his tracks and shrugs. “What about us making a pit-stop at that McDonald’s over there before heading home? Or have California made you too vegetarian, Fredrik?”  
“Nope. No way.”  
“Ok, Mækkern is it.”

“So Emma didn’t come with you?” Isak asks are we munch our greasy chips and fried cheese and a chicken burger each. Organic free-range climate neutral, according to the posters, a decade too late, we all feel a bit ashamed about stuffing with meat now, but with a probably quite vegetarian Christmas coming up, with all the Schreibner-Florenzis having apparently gone green, although both my dads chuckles when I said it. “I guess we can order burgers for sneak-eating in the garage,” Even smiles at us.

“Emily,” I correct him. “No, I already told you so, didn’t I?” I know I sound like a grumpy teen.  
“Yes, I just thought…”  
“No, it’s nothing to think about,” I say. “She was never coming with me.”  
“Ok ok.” He holds up his hands in peace. “Just asking.”  
“Yeah, sure,” I mutter, trying to calm down.  
“So is there someone…?” he starts.  
“Isak.” Even’s voice is warning.  
“Sorry.” Isak shakes is head. “Not my place to ask.”  
“No.”  
“Sorry.”  
“No, I mean, there is nobody. Can we just not talk about my love life now? I have travelled for 24 hours and I am hungry and tired and my head is spinning and I just want to go to bed.”  
I feel his hand on mine. “Sorry, son. What do you want? I can grab you some more food.” He looks around as if to check for a menu, but it’s only by the cashier on the level below us. Next to us is just a sickening sundae poster with way too much of everything.  
“Huh? No. I am not hungry.”  
“Oh, I just thought, you said…” He tilts his head and looks at me.  
“I think we’re ready to go home now.” Even’s voice is determined as he stands up and starts to clean up our trays and wrappings and bamboo cutlery.

My body just sits there. Suddenly it feels like I can’t move a muscle anymore. My arms are dangling, my feet keeps me seated.

He leads me out. The smell of him is still lingering in my nose as I am sitting in the back of the car, behind the driver’s seat with Isak in the passenger seat next to him. I fall asleep again with his eyes looking at me through the rear mirror while heavy snow is falling in the outside darkness.

When I wake up the next day, it’s to Maria’s loud voice and the mattress sagging as she sits down. “Hey, wake up. You have slept for 15 hours, you have to get up now. Coffee?”

The smell of it has already hit my nostrils, the wonderful burnt smell, some spices, she loves to add that to the seasonal brew. Cinnamon and vanilla for Christmas, orange peels for Easter, berries for summer. Sometimes we nudge her about making tea instead of coffee, and she growls back. She may have removed a lot from her diet, but coffee is not among them.

I sit up to reach for my coffee. A few sips later I feel human again. It went so fast that I kind of never got to feel the sleepy haze I tend to wander about in between waking up, going through the bathroom routine, getting dressed and finally ending up in the kitchen making coffee. I have thought numerous times that I should have a coffee machine in my room, but I have never gotten around to it.  
“Can you serve me coffee every morning?” I ask.  
“Huh?” She scrunches her forehead.  
“It was a pleasant way of waking up, no break between sleep and coffee. Can you do that every day?” I ask with a smile, fully aware it’s the safe path to no coffee in the morning.  
She looks at me. “In your dreams,” she mutters.

She crawls into my bed and pulls the blanket over her jogging pants. “So, home again?” she asks. No beating around the bush.  
“Obviously,” I answer, curling my tongue in pain as I sip the coffee too fast. “Good thing we’re not in the USA,” I joke to her. “Then I would have sued you for burning my coffee.”  
“Good thing I am a coffee purist and wouldn’t dream about adding cold water to your brew to cool it to a safe temperature for your fragile tongue.”

I laugh at her. Everything is like it used to be between us. The past months have been kind of awkward. We haven’t talked much, we’ve been to busy to match schedules, so it’s been asynchronous chats, a single question or a full monologue from one of us, the answer comes hours or days later, then we suddenly have time for a regular conversation and sit there for half an hour sending short phrases back and forth, finishing the other’s thought. Some people say that twins have a special bond, and sometimes it feels like they may be right, even beyond a close sibling bond.

“Are you ready for Andreas coming tomorrow then?”  
I splutter my coffee and stains the beige linen. “Fuck.”  
“Exactly.”  
“See what you did? These linen were clean and now it’s coffee everywhere?”  
“Because I asked if you are ready for Andreas?” she asks while handing me some tissues from the box on my nightstand.

I sigh. “I guess I am ready for visitors. It would just have been nice to be only the four of us. Like a family, you know.”  
“They are family.”  
“A blood family then. You know what I mean.”  
“We’ve been celebrating Christmas with them for like ten years. Why not this year?” She doesn’t comment on my exclusion of one of our dads here.  
“Because I haven’t been here for ages and maybe I’d like some time with only you and dads?” My voice is sharp. ”Or at least with dads,” I add with a mutter.

Maria looks patiently at me. Like she has all the patience in the world right now. Her green eyes are piercing through me. She should have become a police interrogator instead of physics teacher. At least she will ace at getting the kids to tell the truth when they are making trouble. Dad and Sana wouldn’t have stood a chance against that teacher when they hid grass in his backpack, that hideous story Sana told me a night she felt like taking revenge for something dad had said.

“Fuck off,” I say, looking at the coffee spot in front of me. I try to see what it looks like, it’s some kind of a psychology trick, but I don’t see anything but a splotch of coffee. Maybe that’s me. My life. Spilling coffee like my chances.

My mouth opens as if it wants to say something. I desperately swallows to make it not do, and presses my lips together until they hurt towards my teeth.

“Ok.” After what feels like an eternity she finally gets out of the bed. She closes the door with a click.

I swallow again. Swallow everything I was about to spill to Maria. About Andreas, Emily, America, my dreams, my nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're apparently continuing with a different point of view, but hopefully you will get quite a bit of everybody's story through whatever eyes we see it through. For those wondering, we are about twelve years after the first 30 chapters of Life is good.
> 
> (And for those wondering about THAT: I haven't needed to keep Sophia at a tight lash yet. She is free to roam the story as she pleases.)
> 
> We are delighted about the comments and cheering after the first epiepilogue chapter, please keep'em coming - maybe that could be your Christmas-or-whatever-gift for us, and we will give you more story as our? ("Dear Santa...")


	33. That Epilogue Christmassy thingy part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Davenzi's have landed in Oslo, and Andreas is not ready. He is in no shape or form ready for what is an inevitable week of doom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the warm welcome on the return of this story, we are both totally hyped about writing this, and are having more fun than ever cliffhangering eachother and trying to make sense of what this hilarious family are up to. We have no idea where we are going but Fredrik and Andreas sure do. Sit tight. Here is part 3....

**ANDREAS**

It doesn’t get better, just because we are on Norwegian soil. I still feel like a fraud, despite the girls’ obvious excitement over the snow on the train platform as we stumble out into the afternoon darkness that looms even with it being just after 15:00. 

Lottie is climbing a pile of gray mush, her bags carelessly thrown on the ground as Papi struggles to fit his usual crate of German beer on top of his suitcase. Vati is paying for our travelcards on the app and swearing loudly in German, me and Lilly are making snowballs and throwing them at each other. The madness that is our family. Seemingly, we cannot travel anywhere discreetly without making a big song and dance about it all. People are staring, and rightly so. We’re five adults behaving like kids in the middle of Oslo Central station, and Vati just shouts at us to follow him as we all rumble out on the main square where the trams thunder past, full of late Christmas shoppers and other stressed out humans who don’t need some deranged Germans standing in their way. 

“I can smell the sea!” Lottie shouts. “I need to find myself a nice Norwegian man so I can move here and live here forever.” She sings out with her arms outstretched whilst Papi tries to pretend he doesn’t know us. 

Long gone are the days when we used to be met at the station. These days we know our way and all happily get on the right tram, stealing seats and piling our bags next to Papi who is, as always, volunteering to stand up for others needing the seats. Like his spoilt brat kids, who are actually not kids anymore. 

“You’re not on Tinder already, are you?” I hiss at Lilly who is scrolling through some unsuspecting blokes’ profiles on her phone. 

“Look. Bisexual man looking for a third. Something for you ‘Dreas?” she bats her eyelashes at me, like she doesn’t even know that everyone on that bus is now staring at me. Well, the ones that speak German. I suppose. 

“Shut it, Lils.” I retaliate. 

I just want to sit here in peace and quiet, well the last peace and quiet I will have for a while with all these crazies around me. And I am not going to freak out over the fact that a certain someone will be there. I am not. I won’t. I just won’t allow myself to. See? I can be chill. Totally relaxed. Shake his hand and talk about the weather. How’s life been treating you old fellow, kind of talk. I deal with people every day, I can surely deal with my ex. 

My ex. I hate to think about him like that. He was, well. I can’t even describe it in my head. He was just this kid that made me see the world in a different way. He was younger than me, but had all his shit together. He knew what he liked, and yeah. He liked me. I liked him too, I mean, we became the best of friends during a summer holiday, and then we went camping and we kind of… made out. 

That should have been the end of it. Something we laughed about and wrote off like a funny thing we did in our youth. Instead it just went on, like an out of control speed train. He texted me every day, and funnily enough, I texted him back. If he didn’t text I would panic and ring him, and then after a while we talked every night. Then we talked every morning too. Then I saw him again, and yeah, we took things to a whole new level of making out, and then our family went to Oslo for the very first Christmas there. Well, there is a reason the girls still tease me about mauling him in the hallway in front of his parents. That one, was all on me. I have no idea what had gotten into the 16-year-old me, but I couldn’t not launch at him and, yes. I ate his face. In front of Uncle Even and Uncle Isak. There are reasons I have landed myself in this mess being teased mercilessly by my family. I didn’t only kiss him. I went full on gay on poor Fredrik. 

I’ve drifted off completely by the time Vati tugs at my jacket to get me off the tram. Then we walk up the now familiar road, lined by pretty houses with twinkling Christmas lights everywhere. Candle arches in windows and warm bright star lights. It’s all very festive and pretty. Clean. Bright. Especially with all the snow covering everything in sight. We get snow in Berlin, but not like this. Piles and piles of it, and there are still some stray snowflakes whirling past me as I rub the snot running out of my nose on my gloves. Proper woolen ones that we are gifted from our gracious hosts every time we rock up here in our apparently unsuitable German winter gear. It doesn’t matter what we wear, Isak will mock us mercilessly for our bad winter clothes and then whip out a bag from the wardrobe and ensure we all have the latest high-tech breathable, multifunctional gloves and the warmest hats known to mankind. Everything is better in Norway. His words, and I don’t dare disagree. You don’t mess with Uncle Isak, and I knew better than to reject his invitation this year. 

“You ok, kid?” Papi says, as he catches up and nudges my shoulder. “Need a man-to-man talk?”

“Nah,” I slobber back, my nose still running. Trust me to come down with a cold for Christmas. “I’m good.”

“I’m here if you need a freak out,” Papi says, and winks.

“Not having a freak out,” I snarl back.

“Yes, you are, and it’s OK. Just drag him out for a beer somewhere public and let it all out.”

“That will drain my savings in one go, and I will have to spend the rest of this holiday at home doing nothing,” I hiss back. “I’m not going to a Norwegian bar with Fredrik. Nope. Not happening.”

It’s not. And still my heart swells when I see the house. The house of so many happy memories, of all the Christmasses, of laughter and… yes. All my memories. I need to make new ones, Lottie had helpfully suggested. She promised to find me a nice Norwegian hookup. _Grindr or Tinder?_ _What do you fancy_? She had said like it was normal. I couldn’t even answer, because to be honest I am too confused in my head to care right now. 

Because on the large steps outside the house stands this man, and I have to stop before I stumble on my own feet. It doesn’t matter that he’s grown. He’s taller than I remember. Broader. A fine dusting of stubble on his chin, I can tell because it’s covered in frost that glitters in the light from the doorway. His hair is longer than I remember too, falling in soft waves under the hat he’s wearing. And of course he has been shoveling snow like some Elf-like creature that will impress my parents no end. And put him in his own dads’ good books. 

“Fredrik!!!!!!” The girls shout in unison, again dumping their bags in the middle of the road so they can simultaneously tackle the dude on the steps, to the ground. Which they do, because my sisters might be all pretty and tall and suave, but they are still feral monsters. And now the three of them are in a pile on the steps as Fredrik, because everyone always calls him Fredrik, except me, screams for the girls to get off him. Well, my Vati is trying to get in there to hug the poor guy too, and Papi is filming it all on his phone whilst I stand there like a fool wishing the ground could just swallow me up. 

I lied when I said I was ready. I am nowhere near ready for this. 

Deep breaths. In out. Do that breathing thingy that I get my kids to do at the group home. In out. Let’s gather ourselves up. There is no panic here. No fear. In out. 

“Andreas,” his voice says. 

I can’t say a word. 

“Welcome back, good to see you, man,” he says, with some stupid sounding American twang he has going on. Too much time abroad, obviously. The twat. Then he reaches out to shake my hand. 

“Good to see you too, Fredrik,” I say and grab his gloved hand with my own. Shake it. Try to smile. 

I bloody full-name him. He was always my Freddie, but he isn’t anymore. Now he is some bloody handsome bastard with an accent and a firm handshake and I think I hate him. 

“Let me show you to your room,” he says and turns his back on me. Like we are strangers. Like I haven’t spent months and months of my teenaged years here in this very house. Like I don’t know this place, these roads, this path to the front door, as well as he does. 

This used to be my happy place. The place where my shoes went on the second shelf to the left, where my coat hung on the green peg and Fredrik’s on the red one. Maria had the blue one. The twins got pink ones a year down the line.

The house where my room was always his, and even when he wasn’t there anymore, I still slept in his bed. 

Instead he points at the stairs leading down to the basement, and says “You’re in Even’s office, he made up a blow-up bed on the floor for you.” 

Then he nods and walks off. Like I am some kind of unwanted cousin. 

It gets better. Well, maybe less awkward. Because nobody can be mad or upset when Uncle Even is around, however frustrated I may feel on the inside. Uncle Even is like sunshine on steroids on a good day, and on a day like today, when he is a little stressed and obviously hasn’t slept at all if you gauge the dark circles under his eyes, he still hugs me like he never wants to let me go. 

“Uncle Even,” I hiss out, trying not to be strangled to death. 

“My long lost son!” He says all dramatically and laughs that belly laugh that only Even can pull off. “You are back. Finally. Isak said he would actually make good of his threats to go get you himself if you didn’t turn up. He even googled flights last night, it would have cost a bit, and then some, but he would have had you back here in time for breakfast tomorrow. Luckily your Vati assured us you were on the plane this morning, otherwise we would have had trouble.”

“Let the kid go, Even,” Uncle Isak says and gives me one of his awkward dad hugs. He’s the king of the awkward dad hug. Always. He still manages to make me feel all soppy when he whispers “Good to have you back,” in my ear. I think in spite of everything, Uncle Isak loves me. He hated on me big time for a while, but he never said a thing. Never ranted at me. Never cried like Uncle Even did. Never shut me out from his life like someone else I know. 

Well, Fredrik has disappeared and Maria turns up right in time to pull me in for a hug whilst she whispers all kinds of foul swear words into my neck. I make out _wanker_ and _arse wipe_ and _drittsekk_ and a few other choice Norwegian words, before I call her “ _bitch_ ” in her ear and she boxes me in the stomach. Which is kind of her. We have had worse, but she is still smiling and kisses my cheek and then hugs me again. 

“I don’t know if I want to give you a black eye or hug the hell out of you,” she says softly, her hair much longer and falling in curls over her shoulders. She looks good. Great even. Tanned and healthy with that sparkle in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I say. Because I don’t know what else to say right now. I love Maria, she is the missing piece of my puzzle of sisters, the one that slotted in right between the twins. The stable clever girl who made me feel tiny and useless with a few choice words, but who could also steer me right and has always loved me. Despite her not ever saying my real name in the last couple of years. She calls me what-ever her choice of insult is that day. I call her selected ones back. 

“Motherfucker,” I say, grabbing her shoulders. “I bloody love you.” 

“Fuck off,” she says, and there is water pooling in her eyes. See? I still have it. 

“I’m trying to be serious here,” I say, and I can’t stop smiling. Because it’s her. And she’s bloody awesome. 

“Stop trying to charm me, Twatfeatures. I will never marry you, because we all know that train passed when we were 15, and also you still smell funny and my god, do you actually ever shave?” 

There she is. The snarky Maria I know and love. She has both hands around my face, scratching my stubble, and smacking kisses to my eyelids and then shaking my shoulders like she wants to slap me. 

“I still hate you,” she says, and pouts. “But you are here, and that is an A for good effort. Well done. I might let you have your Christmas present.”

“I might let you have yours, if you can try to be nice to me for once. Say, call me by my proper name and not call me Wanker over Christmas dinner.”

“I can’t promise anything, and anyway, if you are good I might wrap Fredrik up with a bow and….”

“Shut up!” I almost whisper in panic. Because, I don’t think I can take it. Not right now. I should be used to all this teasing by now, and it’s not the first time we have all been together since… well. I just can’t. Not now. Not when I have no idea where I stand and what we are doing and how we are actually going to play this thing out. Because. 

“Don’t worry. Fredrik has told us we are not allowed to make comments and make him feel uncomfortable just because the guy who took his virginity is staying with us for Christmas.” Maria says and Lottie sprays her drink in a shower across the room before Lilly hits her with a well aimed punch to the arm and Isak says something I can’t make out and everyone is laughing. 

Which I take as my cue to disappear for a while. 

So. I sit in Uncle Even’s office, with all his posters and drawings and books, staring at the line of awards sat on the desk. He did good, our Uncle Even. He was quite famous and celebrated for a while after a string of well received documentaries based on Aunt Bella’s diaries. They even had real actors in them, acting out some key scenes, which meant we had two people pretend shagging in the barn at the farm, and none of us kids were allowed to watch them working that day. Nor were we allowed to watch the film despite us being in it as extras. I remember me and Fredrik being totally bummed at that and Maria calling us perverts. 

Anyway. Uncle Even won awards. Maria was on TV. Uncle Isak was proud as punch. There is a framed picture on the desk, the four of them all in dinner suits, even Maria. They all have matching ties. It’s hysterical. Weird. Wonderfully them. There is another photo of the nine of us all in ski gear. Austria, a few years ago. Then one of the twins. And the other twins. A faded paper printout of a younger version of myself and Fredrik. I feel like ripping it down, with some unexplainable anger brewing inside of me. I don’t know why, because this one was all on me. Every single little bit.

I am a grown man. A responsible man with a responsible job. I have degrees. Certificates with my full name on them. I can behave like an adult. Surely. 

Well, apparently not, as I stomp back upstairs and let my feet carry me down the well trodden path through the kitchen, past everyone laughing and trying to hand me steamy, spiked wine in a cup. I think giving me alcohol now would be the worst decision ever. Especially since I stomp down the back hallway, and swing his door open, walking in like I own the place and slam the door shut behind me. 


	34. That Epilogue Christmassy thingy part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fredrik and Andreas meet again.

**FREDRIK**

“What the heck?” 

I startle as the door slams open. I cast a glance at my laptop screen, not sure what I was actually watching, I am sitting mindnumb on my bed trying to get my spinning head under control. It had cost me all my self control and energy not to throw myself at him when he stood in front of my at the stairs, after Lottie and Lilly were done hugging, after I had brushed the snow off and hugged David and Matteo. I love them all to pieces, the best bonus family anyone could have.

And then he was in front of me and all I could think about was his soft skin, the hollow spot where his collar bones meet, the muscles under my hands if I stroke them across his back, his cheeks against mine, he looks tired, if I could only hold him.

I gave him my hand. His felt stiff against my wet and cold glove. I shook it once, twice, then I had to let go unless I would never let go.

He smiled without looking me in the eyes. I tried, tried not to, I don’t know what I tried, so I just turned around.

“Let me show you to your room.”

I walked towards our heavily decorated entrance without checking to see if he followed, without checking to see if the others were watching us, others listening. I couldn’t care less. 

The rainbow coloured lights were flashing around the door. They don’t match the big Santa figure or the traditional wreath dad always buys from the day care center grandma Marianne use to spend time in periods, they make wreaths as one of their activities. Sometimes they are thin and flimsy, with only a few berries and ribbons, other years they have gone wild with ornaments and colours. This year they are modest. A thick, green wreath with a silver bow and a few pine cones scattered. Nice and traditional, as the airline magazine described the style. Not that I read those magazines, but I was jet lagged and couldn’t sleep, and my books were in my carryon in the compartment above my head, protected by a large, snoring man sitting between me and the aisle.

We kicked off our shoes inside the door by reflex, mine ended in a pile of winter boots next to the door, while Andreas’ landed next to his sisters’ before he picked them up and put them on a shelf. I hung my wet coat in the drying cabinet. After living in Boston with virtually no options for drying clothes besides in the washer/dryer, I really value this apparatus. In the corner of my eye I saw Andreas move a jacket from one of the pegs on the other wall before hanging his own there.

Dad had argued that Andreas could sleep in my room, like he always does. It would be impolite else, he said, Andreas had used my bed even when I was gone. I said no, no way, and had a furious moment when dad had the audacity to suggest I could sleep in his office in the basement while Andreas took my bed. He sighed and went downstairs to pull out the air bed from the storage room downstairs. “We need to get a sofa bed for my office,” I heard him tell dad as he passed through the kitchen, before his voice disappeared downstairs.

“You’re in Even’s office, he made up a blow-up bed on the floor for you.” I pointed Andreas towards the basement. I didn’t even bother following him downstairs.

The last I saw of Andreas was his slumped shoulders as he walked down the stairs, heavy, reluctant steps, as if he was on his way to death row. “Dead man walking,” was on my tongue, but it was too morbid, he is not dead, not even to me. He is just a boy. A man. A man my family knows, a family guest. Nothing more.

So why the heck is he standing here, behind my door, on my rug, on my floor, next to my bed, two steps to the right of the door, on the spot he has stood so many times that it was almost weird not seeing him there. Why is he standing here as if he owns the place, like he is about to push my stuff to the side to make room for his own things, why is he looking at me with rage in his eyes, ready to kill me?

“Fuck it, Freddie! We can’t go on like this! We need to talk, we are grown up people, we are adults now, not kids, we have grown up and graduated and have proper jobs, at least I do, and we can’t mop around like gymnasium kids just because we were in love and still, here I am, throwing a tantrum because you broke up with me four years ago and we didn’t agree about it so we stopped talking as if it was some other high school drama! We can’t be like this all Christmas, I am gonna go crazy because I love you like fuck!”

I just stare at him. I don’t understand what he is doing here, in my room, yelling at me.

“We need to talk?” I repeat. 

His words are resonating in my skull, in love, love you, drama, love you, love, love, love, I love you. They just don’t make sense, not coming from him, careful Andreas, a year older than me, yet he felt younger, more innocent, more curious, less mature and grown up. 

I guess that’s what you get when you don’t grow up with a dad you silently fear will go full-blown mad every time his moods go up. You get edgy and somewhat nervous, and you feel really crappy about it because he is your dad anyway, the best dad anyone can have even in his highest or lowest moments, especially when you have two best dads in the world.

Yet Andreas has had his share, I know that. Both Matteo and David have struggled, but I think they have managed to hide it more for the kids. We talked about depressions and mania when I was around 16, it was the summer before high school, and he said that while he knew Matteo suffered a lot, he was never afraid, not even worried. He was just sad that his dad was sad. 

I was surprised, because I thought everyone was afraid. I have feared that my dad would one day kill himself since I was 10 and googled bipolar when I was home alone. But it is what it is, he is still alive and I try not to think about it whenever I think about his bipolarity.

My mind seems to spin sometimes, it blows out thoughts and ideas at high speed, but still in a row, I feel, I can make a straight line between them, from my fear to the conversations with Andreas in my bed, lying chest to chest with our legs entwined, his mouth a warm breath from my own, a small movement from my lips, his smile, his laughter, the light in his eyes, his eyelids the microsecond before he kissed me, and now he is fuming in front of me. 

His chest is heaving in and out, too fast, too deep. He looks at me as if he wants to kill me or kiss me, a ridiculous game of kiss, marry, kill springs to mind, some time back in a past, or perhaps it was in the future, after Andreas, before now, I don’t remember anymore.

Suddenly the door slams open again. It hits the wall hard and Andreas jolts forward in surprise. He falls face first into the bed, or rather into my lap.

“Shit. Sorry. You were in the middle of something. We really didn’t want to disturb!”

The girls are standing in the middle of the room, tipsy and chuckling, their cheeks red and each of them holding a steaming glass mug with no doubt highly spiked mulled wine. It’s probably “ _E &M’s seasonal blend _”, with Maria’s spice mix and Even’s apple juice from the garden. It’s a new interest he has grown and kept over the past years. Hoarding apples in all the neighbouring gardens and making apple juice from them. Apparently it’s also quite popular at the local Farmer’s Market, despite my Father the Farmer living well inside the urban parts of Oslo.

“Are they busy? Shouldn’t we disturb?” 

It’s Isak’s voice from the hallway outside. He peeks inside the door opening, holding a glass mug towards us in his outstretched hand. “We thought you also wanted some. It’s Even’s juice, and Maria’s spice mix.”

“Even’s juice.” Matteo chuckles. His cheeks are deep red and he has apparently had more than one mug of wine already. He has probably forgotten to eat again, I think, he is notorious at that.

“Vollidiot,” David nudges and laughs. “And there is some pretty good Äpfel Schnapps in it as well,” he continues, holding out another mug.

“Yes, the moron wouldn’t let me use Amaretto,” Matteo laughs, bumping into David. _“Sei davvero l'idiota del villaggio, Il mio amore.”_ Ten years ago we would probably have rolled our eyes and found them sickening annoying, now I understand how deep their continuous love and respect runs.

David looks offended at Matteo. “Amaretto in Glühwein? It’s bad enough that these vikings want to use apple juice as base, but Amaretto? Ugh.”

“Do you remember the red juice they called Glühwein the first year we were here?” Both the German grimaces.

“That was gløgg,” Even protests. “And yeah, it has nothing to do with glühwein! But this one is proper shit.” He points into his cup. “The red one turns out too sweet,” he complains. “But this one is perfect. Dry apple juice, some lemon and oranges, spices, and then then Schnapps you generously brought. Besides this is what we had here now. You know, eat your local food and all that.”

“Yeah yeah.” Matteo waves his arms about, spilling wine on the floor like it’s nothing. “It’s wonderful, I am just teasing my Vollidiot.”

“Ich bin der Vollidiot? Du bist.” The kiss is loud in front of them. Matteo laughs and almost trips over, and Even barely managed to save their mugs. He laughs at Andreas and Fredrik.

Andreas has still planted his face between my legs, and I pray to an almighty figure I don’t believe in that the tickling I feel between my legs is him laughing, crying, whatever, and not something else. My face feels cold and stiff, I could as well be dead and my face a death mask, except I feel like throwing up.

“Dads, I think we should leave. I still think they are doing something here.” Maria chimes in, winking at me while trying to herd them all out of my suddenly too small bedroom. The wall of chuckling and laughter and loud, drunk voices finally disappears through the door and it’s suddenly only me and Andreas left.

For a moment we are both lying there. I am frozen to the spot and can’t move, and besides it’s a well known and comfortable feeling having Andreas across me again. We have cuddled a lot, and feeling his body on or across or behind or above myself has been a habit for some periods.

He moves slightly before jumping off me and the bed. “What the fuck,” he mumbles, and I am suddenly acutely aware that the feeling was definitely not Andreas laughing at him. Or on him.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” he says, storming out of the room without even banging the door. I briefly hear the hooting and giggling from the kitchen before someone hushes them and the sounds are shut off again as the kitchen door shuts.

  
  


I go to bed shortly after. I don’t even bother brushing me teeth or using the bathroom first, since the bathroom is too close to the kitchen and I absolutely don’t want to meet anyone now. At least I fall asleep fast, and my sleep is apparently deep and good, as I feel rested when I wake up.

The only problem is visible on my mobile screen: it’s 2:06 and I am wide awake. Not a cell in my body is in sleep mode, despite me knowing that I can’t have slept more than four hours. I go to the bathroom and I brush my teeth, but the bright light and the icy feeling of mint toothpaste only makes me feel more awake. 

For a while I lie in bed, rolling from side to side, breathing in and out, trying to count sheep, trying to visualize my limp body falling asleep from the fingertips and in, but nothing helps. I try to wank off, the afterbliss always makes me sleep, it’s no joke that men fall asleep after sex. Probably women, too, when thinking about it, if the orgasm is the same. If they come, that is.

But not even that helps. If anything I feel more tense afterwards, I can’t stop the feelings rushing through my brain and body, his eyes, the soft hair, his warm breath against my crotch today, his arms, stomach, legs, the sounds... Fuck, I am getting hard again.

With a frustrated sigh I roll over at my back and put both hands above the duvet. I cram the linen while trying to ignore the rhythmic beats between my legs.

After a few minutes I give up. I sit up and throw the duvet away before putting my feet on the ice cold floor. The basement must be even colder. Dad is warmblooded and doesn’t care about the temperature being a bit on the low side, but to the rest of us the basement is a cold and unfriendly place in the winter. Hopefully Andreas was given a pile of blankets in addition to the thick duvet we have, but somehow I doubt he’d ask for them if he is cold.

I put on my sweatpants and a hoodie and pad across the hallway. At the kitchen door I stop to listen, but I can’t hear a sound and no light is getting through the narrow openings around the door. I hold my breath and carefully open the door. It’s dark and quiet and I can’t see anything. I tiptoe across the floor towards the hallway and the stairs that lead to the basement. 

When I have my hand on the door handle, the world turns bright around me and I startle with a squeak, like a girl, I think.

“Where are you going?” His voice is rasp, but I can hear the smirk.

“Nowhere,” I stutter. “I was just…”

“Why are you walking towards the basement?” he asks.

“I am…”  
“We both know this door only leads to the basement, Freddie.”

My shoulders slump and I let go of the handle. I draw my breath and turn around to face him.

“Come lie by me, Andreas,” I say. My voice feels like a whisper. I can’t even talk properly. “My bed is empty, and it’s your spot there, Andreas.”

The idea of bringing him back to bed is probably one of the worst I have had, ever. I can’t even begin to describe how dumb I feel asking him, begging him to come with me. No matter what he answers it’s a lame decision. We shouldn’t do this. We shouldn’t start this again. We never should have started it. We should have ended it years ago, just like we did. But yet we do it.

Without a word he follows me when I grab his hands and we walk across the kitchen floor to the hallway and into my room. Our nervous breathing and the low squelching of our bare feet against the floor are the only sounds I can hear. His hand is cold in mine. He is dressed in only his boxers, he must be ice cold, I think. 

When I close the door to my room, he is already in my bed before I have taken off my hoodie. His has taken his place, next to the wall, curled under the duvet, holding it open for me to creep next to him, letting him spoon me, he is always the big spoon first.

I smile. “It’s already half past two. Shouldn’t I be the big spoon now? Besides, you are ice cold. Let me warm you?” I try to tangle my legs around his.

I can feel him smile while he shakes his head behind me. “Let’s sleep in tomorrow instead. Then you can be the big spoon in a few hours?”

“Ok.”

At ten I wake up with my arms around him. His fingers are entwined with mine and his thumb moving in slow, lazy circles across the back of my hand. I curl closer around him and pull the duvet over our shoulders. His hair tickles my cheek when I kiss his neck. “I have missed you,” I whisper. 

His words are muffled against the pillow. “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Andreas and Fredrik met again. And went to bed together. And woke up together. Amazing, given the family history, isn't it? 
> 
> Our goal is to finish this story this year. Because Christmas in January kind of kills the mood, doesn't it? (But then we finished the summer part here in October, so does anyone really care? Nobody dared to raise their hands?) The only thing we do know, though, is that life is now and that this story will have more than 35 chapters.


	35. That Epilogue Christmassy thingy part 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everyone! Hope you have a fantastic day filled with laughter and joy. Big hugs from Sophia and Pagni xxx

**ANDREAS**

“This is fucked up,” I whisper. Mostly to myself to try to calm the panic rising in my chest. I’m still stroking the skin on his hand, almost like a nervous tic. We shouldn’t be doing this. What the hell was I thinking? Wandering around the empty house like a zombie in the middle of the night, because I couldn't sleep? I had even tidied up the kitchen, watered all Isak's Christmas amaryllis bulbs, and collected mugs and glasses from everywhere, tiptoeing around like some half naked waiter, balancing a tray of dirty stuff I had found in the toilet. The girls had all gone out to some club, and come back, waking me up with the clatter of glasses and too loud giggling, before disappearing off upstairs, the house falling silent almost as soon as their doors fell shut. 

“I know,” he replies, his voice barely there. “I don’t know what we are doing. I don’t know what I am supposed to say.”

“You broke up with me. You tell me,” I mutter. I’m pissed off. Again. 

“We were never together in the first place,” he spills out, talking too fast. “ I wanted to be. I wanted us to try, and you couldn’t even say it out loud. Then you come back here, bloody seven years later and shout that you love me? Fuck off, Andreas.”

He pushes me away and rolls over on his side, away from me. My back is feeling cold and damp from the loss of his body. I shudder, I can’t help it. My body curls in on itself, like I am trying to protect myself from the backlash. From all my truths coming out of my mouth. 

“You didn’t want what I wanted,” he says quietly. “And anyway, you kept saying that you weren’t gay, and that you just wanted to be normal.”

He’s spitting out the words like they are poison. And every syllable is meant to hurt. Trust me, they do. Daggers to my soul, every little word. 

“Freddie, I had a breakdown at 18, I couldn’t get out of bed for weeks. You didn’t even care. I begged you to come to me, and you wouldn’t.”

  
“I was still at school, ‘Dreas. How was I supposed to just bugger off to Berlin like that?” 

I don’t know how to respond to that. I know he is right. It was years ago. I still suffer with weeks when I can’t get out of bed. I still question everything. And he is right, I still can’t say things out loud. 

“I’m sorry.” I say instead, rolling my body over on my back, so that we are shoulder to shoulder. Both of us staring at the ceiling in silence. 

“We need to talk,” he says quietly. “You are right about that. But I can’t hook up with you again, and have you ignore me for the next six months. I can’t do casual. Not with you.”

“We didn’t hook up,” I snarl. I don’t know why I am so angry. I shouldn’t be, because he did exactly what I wanted him to do. I wandered around the house clattering glasses for an hour hoping to wake him up so he would come and get me and tuck me into his bed. I can’t even deny that. “If we are going to do this we need to be honest. Spill the fucking truth,” I say. 

“Ok?” he says and lets out a deep breath. Panting. Blowing out air. “You are an arse hole.”

“Thank you for sharing,” I hiss, but my mouth is smiling. “My turn?”

“Be my guest,” he says. 

“Okay. Ehhr.” It’s harder than I thought, this being honest. Finding the right words for all the things I have wanted to tell him over the years. “There have been moments over the last couple of years when things have happened, and the first thing that I have thought of is you. Almost like I for a minute have forgotten all of this ever went down. Thinking that you would have laughed. I have wanted to text you, and send you pictures and the amount of times I almost rang you, but then I chickened out.”

I have to catch my breath. My heart beating a little too fast for my liking. 

“You were never brave enough,” he says. Because he knows me so well, even after 7 years of radio silence. 

“I am still a chicken. I bail out as soon as things get serious,” I say. Honest. I am trying, really trying here. Because there are things that need to be said. 

“Have you, I mean, I speak to Lilly a lot, so she gives me the gossip, but, has there been anyone? Anyone serious?” he asks, and I smile at the twang of jealousy that is unmistakable in his voice. Just that little edge. It’s still there, and somehow, I, I like that.

“I have hooked up with girls. Had a few flings, but nothing else. It’s just, you know. I tried… with men, at clubs.” I have to stop. Honesty is fucking brutal. I try not to even analyze this shit for myself, and here I am trying to explain it, to Freddie of all people.

“Hate clubs,” he says. “Like a meat market. Never did well with Grindr either.”

“But you had boyfriends?” 

“Sure, I had a couple. Great guys, I’m still in contact with Eric, he’s getting married in February. Retreat in Wisconsin. Nice couple.”

Now it’s me who is all green eyed monster, hissing under my breath. “I couldn’t do other guys. They did absolutely nothing for me. Not a twitch. Couldn’t get it up, not even when I was drunk and some really hot guy tried to blow me in the bathroom. It was… humiliating at it’s best. I’m not gay, Freddie, I am really really sure of that.”

“Has it completely escaped your messed up brain, that I made you come, without even touching you, several times, whilst my dick was up your arse? I think that counts as super gay. Very fucking super gay,” he says, and now he is pissed off. I don’t blame him. I would be pissed off at me as well. 

“I didn’t say straight, did I?” I hurl back at him in anger. “I just don’t fancy other blokes. I tried, OK? I met up with this couple, this girl, and she wanted to see her boyfriend fuck another bloke, because the idea of that turned her on no end, and he was really fit, and she was fucking beautiful. It was the filthiest fucking fantasty I could imagine, like getting off with the two of them.”

“Threesomes are fucked up,” he says calmly. How is he so fucking calm? I am sprouting a headache with all this talking. All this emotion. And I still haven’t told him anything of substance. 

“I’m fucking this up. Just look at me. I walked around the house last night…” I sit up. Crawl around. Drag the duvet up over my shoulders, because despite the room being warm, I’ve got chills and goosebumps everywhere. “I walked around hoping you would wake up and come and drag me into your bed. Your bed is my happy place. You are my happy place.”

  
Ok. Now I sound like I am 16 again. 

“You said be honest. Then fucking be honest with me. What the hell do you want, Andreas?”

Now he is sitting up, picking his jumper off the floor and dragging it over his head, which gives me a few seconds to admire his naked chest. Because, well. It’s there and Fredrik, who was always that skinny kid with ribs everywhere, is now suddenly built and buff and my mouth kind of waters. He’s stunning. He’s a man, and here I am feeling the drool pool in my mouth.

“I want to be happy, and I want to have you in my life, however I can,” I say, and now, here come the tears. Fucking hell. 27 years old and I am crying in my ex-boyfriends bed. Like a complete loser. 

“It’s been years,” he says quietly. “You fucked off from my life and ignored me. I tried to text. I rang you.”

“You broke up with me,” I slobber, trying to hide my eyes behind the edge of the duvet. 

“I gave you the choice. Either you were my boyfriend and we were together and we made an effort,” he says coldly.

“Or I could fuck right off. I remember that conversation. Kind of hard to forget having someone crush you like that.”

“ _You_ fucking crushed me. All I wanted was for you to say _I love you_. You couldn’t even do that.”

And of course, that is the moment when I snort, trying to regain my composure and that is also the time when Lilly kicks the door open, balancing two cups of coffee in her outstretched hands. 

“Oh, darling Fredrik, now you have made Andreas cry. Cheer up, brother dearest, here is your morning coffee. All is well, and it’s Christmas,” she says, far too cheerily. Well, she has eyeliner smudged all under her eyes, and there is a piece of purple tinsel stuck in her fringe. I mean to point this out to her, but I don’t dare to speak, because then I will start to cry. Properly. 

“Good night, Lils?” Fredrik says, like there is nothing wrong in the world.

“Oh it was bloody awesome,” my little sister says and crawls onto his lap, like she is ten years old all over again. “Maria took us to this gay club, and we all danced until it closed, and they we went to some underground bar that her boyfriend knew of, with these podium dancers, and we had shots, and have you met Maria’s boyfriend? Such a nice guy. I need to meet a Norwegian guy, someone with loads of money, because now I am skint. We had kebabs on the way home and then Lotts threw up in a pile of snow and I have never laughed so much. Anyway, Uncle Even is baking…”

“Breathe, Lils,” Fredrik says calmly and strokes her head. “Breathe.”

“Even is baking,” she says and takes a gulp of coffee out of Fredrik’s cup. “Vati and Papi are out shovelling snow, and Isak is going out to pick up some top secret Christmas present so I need to get ready because I am coming with him, and Lotts is fast asleep, so can you check on her and Maria later? Just to make sure they are still breathing? God, I love Christmas here, have you seen the snow? There was at least two feet of fresh snow last night. Loads. Everywhere.” She takes a deep breath and I can’t help smiling at her as she awkwardly crawls out of bed in her brushed cotton pyjamas. “I’m off. Just wanted to make sure the two of you hadn’t killed each other yet. We all laughed at the fact that your bed downstairs was empty this morning. Like we didn’t know where you would be.” 

She twirls out the door, blowing us kisses as she disappears, of course leaving the door wide open. I can hear Uncle Even whistling in the kitchen. Some Christmas music blasting from the speakers and the scent of baking unmistakable in the air. 

I look at him. The lashes framing his eyes. The way his lips closes around the rim of the coffee cup. The very slight tremble in his hand, balancing the cup with his fingers. 

“What happened with this threesome then?” he says with a little smirk on his face. 

“Don’t want to talk about it,” I mutter. 

“We need to talk about stuff,” he says, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. “You said we should be honest.”

“You broke up with me, and it messed me up to the point where I lost the plot.” I feel sick.

“Then you went to that bloody castle in France.”

I swallow hard. “You wouldn’t speak to me, you barely said goodbye when we went home after summer.” I am trying to keep it. I am trying to be calm.

“You wouldn’t let me speak to you either.”

“I hated you. I hated everything.”

“And what did you do to make it better?” he almost shouts. “You brought a friend and went on some fucking rebound. What the fuck, Andreas? You broke me! I hated you and what did you do? Where was your head? What were you thinking?”

He's angry. Hurt. I don't blame him. I blame him for nothing. I know that as I reach out and grab his hand. Tangle my shaking fingers in his grip. He grounds me. He always did.

“Nothing,” I say, trying to keep my voice stable. “It was always you. It was fucking always about you.”


	36. That Epilogue Christmassy thingy part 6

****

**FREDRIK**

It got kind of foggy after that. Or steamy. One of us had the presence of mind to get up from bed and actually shut and lock the door, but anyone passing within five metres probably would run away anyway. Hopefully. Except if it’s one of our sisters, who are nosy as fuck and would definitely listen in. At least my bed linen was already soiled by coffee. I bundled them and brought it to the bathroom afterwards, then remembering we have a laundry room downstairs now.

“Can you bring these down to the laundry room?” I say, handing the bundle to Andreas.  
He lifts his eyebrow at me. “You’re twelve again and want to get rid of these without your parents seeing them?”  
“Yes. And so do you. So just throw them in the washer, will you.”  
“Now?” he asks, looking down at his naked self, with questionable dry, white spots over his stomach. Which is defined and soft, by the way. Not at all like it was 7 years ago.  
“No.” I lean into him to touch him again. Let my hands slide down his back, counting his vertebrals under my fingertips as they slide down towards his crack. “Not now.”

Apparently the water heater is bigger than it used to be. We stay in the shower like forever, doing things we haven’t done in seven years, smelling, feeling, tasting, drinking each other in. I am glad the bathroom was refurbished some time over the last decade, we no longer have the flimsy shower cabinet. Now the shower hangs from the ceiling and we have solid tiles on three sides, with a wet, cold shower curtain at the forth. It’s now lying in a pile next to the hamper after my legs were attacked by the clingy fabric for the third time. I don’t think the rod broke, so hopefully we can reattach it and avoid some of the comments I know we can expect.

“You are not gay, you say?” My voice is raspy as I push into him again and again. His sounds are like coming from a space oddity, a mix of deep throat-voices and squeaky whimpering when I am brushing against that spot inside him.

He presses his hands towards the wall as if to hold himself up, even though I also hold him, my hands are everywhere on him, his hips, his chest, his thighs, his stomach, his shoulders, arms, around his dick, braided with his fingers. I can’t get enough of him, even though I know I won’t lose him ever again, not even if I let go of him now, our souls will just stay together and force our bodies to follow, because soulmates is a weird concept that doesn’t exist, we need our bodies too, he will always be mine now.

I put my mouth on his neck, feeling his trapezius muscle trembling against my lips. I bite him carefully, I don’t want to mark him, although it’s like my body is acting on its own, making me suck him into my mouth, creating what I know will be a dark purple patch tomorrow, giving him a sweet pain I know I will be rewarded for later. I feel him stretch his head back, letting me in on his neck while moving his hips faster, he controls the speed now. I can only dig my fingers into his loins and hold tight while he rides me.

The spasms are rushing through him before they start moving through myself. His right hand is holding around his dick while the left one is cramped against the wall, the knuckles are white as if he desperately tries to hold on to the slick surface.

We collapse in a heap under the warm water. It’s a miracle it’s still warm, I have too many memories about getting up to have a shower when I was younger, only to discover that my fathers and sister already had spent all the hot water. The drawback of being an evening person in a family of early birds.

“Maybe I am a little bit gay, then”, he mumbles against my arm. We’re leaning against the corner, the water hits out legs and sprays a mist on the rest of us.  
“Gay for me?” I half-joke.  
“No.” He shakes his head and turns his head towards me to look me in the eyes. “I am gay, Fredrik. For you and for anybody else. It’s only been you since we were 14, and I know I said I wasn’t gay back then, but I was. I was so bloody gay, and then it confused me that I was still turned on by all the girls. But sex and emotions aren’t the same, I was never emotionally attracted to them, not on a personal level, I mean. Just as… sexual objects. And then I didn’t understand shit when being with those men was a failure, because, you know, men? They should have turned me on? But I couldn’t see them as sexual objects, they were too similar to you, but they weren’t you, so I couldn’t do them either.”

“But you can do me,” I tease. I know I should say something else. Something about my feelings. Something about me loving him. Assuring him again that it was only him, even though I skipped around with all those other people. But I can’t. Not now. My brain has had enough serious talk for a week, it’s struggling to process all the feelings it has encountered over the past two days. I can hardly believe it’s only been two days since I came home and that I and Andreas hasn’t even been reunited for a full day yet. And still I am lying here, in a wet heap on the bathroom tiles, feeling my semi-limp dick slide out of his arse, probably emptying the condom under us.

He chuckles. “Ready for more?” he asks, squeezing his buttocks carefully around me.  
“Perhaps not now,” I smile against him as I kiss his neck. The hickey is red, but it will no doubt turn blue soon. “I marked you,” I mutter.  
“I wanna mark you, too,” he says, grabbing my hand and starting to kiss it.  
“So no matching bites?” I smile and look at his lips locking around my knuckles.  
“Good idea,” he chuckles and stretches his body against mine. I feel his hips make a few unnecessary movements against me.  
“Let’s get up, shall we?” I ask with a smile as I can feel my stomach rumble. “I need breakfast.”  
“I should ask Lilly to bring us food next time,” he mutters.  
“It smells like dad has something in store for us.” The unmistakable smell of Christmas bread is filling the air.

We hear the sounds of carols as we approach the kitchen. Some kind of upbeat version of traditional songs, I can barely recognize the song through the bass and drums.

The kitchen is a mess. Dad is working on the opposite workbench, his lean back towards us. His hair is grayer, I notice, but he is still the tall man I know as my dad, the man I love, the man that gives me this sting of fear for losing him every time I see him again, while also filling me with immense gratitude for still being alive. I can’t stop myself from taking the three steps forward to hug him from behind. He startles as my arms curl around him, then leans back slightly, shaking flour off his hands. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” I say.

“I didn’t hear you above the music,” he smiles are he turns around towards me. “Slept well?” he asks, before greeting Andreas.  
“Sure. The bed is as comfy as always.”  
“Your toes don’t freeze in there?”  
“Nope.”  
“And you, slept well too, son?” he asks Andreas.  
“Yup.”  
“Not too cold in the basement? You know, we could probably turn up the heating there a bit. I am warmblooded, so I never feel cold, but I know the others are complaining about there being too little heating down there.”

Andreas and I look confused at each other. I thought everybody here were on top of who slept where, since none of the girls are exactly discreet when it comes to hiding my secrets and our dads are equally nosy.

Dad looks questioning at Andreas, who has parted his lips, probably as uncertain as me about what to say. Then dad collapses in laughter. “Sorry, couldn’t resist. You look like you’ve swallowed a frog. Lovely mark you have there, Andreas.” Andreas quickly puts his hand in front of his neck. “No, further down,” dad chuckles. Andreas just rolls his eyes.

“Fredrik, there are condoms and lube sachets in the jar on your bed table. Suppose you’re old enough to bring your own, but still.” I open my mouth in reflex to protest as I feel my face heaten. Dad laughs again. “Too late, son. There was a reason I turned up the music!”

I feel my face turn crimson.

We sit down at the end of the long kitchen table. Dad proudly puts his own apple juice bottles in front of us, they have his own labels, “Even juice”, I giggle and wonder if the pun reaches all the audience or if it’s lost in translation, or even several puns, he could have put a lot of puns into the name, his mind works in mysterious ways sometimes. There are fresh rolls with ham and cheese, and Christmas bread with loads of that super-salty butter he gets at the farmer’s market, and slices of brown goat cheese. It’s another market treat, I have missed the strong taste of this cheese, the industry-dairy ones are milder, and those are the one I could sometimes find in the USA, or that were in my dads’ care packages.

I see the frown over Andreas’ face as I indulge in the tastes. Warm, sweet bread, melting, salt butter and the soft, slightly curdled slices of cheese, they all mix up and make the perfect mixture in my mouth. I let out a happy sigh. “This is sooo good.”  
He scrunches his nose and looks down at his own bread. “The cheese is kind of… sweet? And still not, isn’t it?”  
I laugh at him. “You don’t like it, do you?”  
“Well... “ He shrugs and look at the food again.  
I snag the cheese from him and munches it. “Better now?”  
He smiles at me. “Yes.”  
“You still have to get the tastes from me afterwards, then,” I say, blowing him a kiss.  
“I guess that’s acceptable.”

Dad serves us coffee. “No more spills in the bed, kiddo,” he laughs. I groan. Nothing ever misses these people, it seems.

We help dad with the baking afterwards. He is making regular bread, rolls and Christmas bread, plus chocolate chip cookies, cocos macrons, chess squares, caramel cookies and cake men. He also insists on making more gingerbread biscuits from a box of dough from Rema, but we stop him, insisting we’ll not be able to get out of the doors here if he insists on feeding us all these sugary fat high-carb bakings. “Well, we’re baking for nine, and you are not kids anymore,” he says. I look around at the piles of biscuits, there must be several hundreds of them. “Sure, we’re adults,” I ignore his chuckle her, “but we still need to eat like 50 biscuits each to get rid of this.”  
“That’ll be like… two days?” Andreas adds with crumples spluttering from his mouth as he is stuffing the last piece of caramel cake between his gorgeous lips while talking. I have to look away so my father can’t read my mind about where those lips were an hour ago. And where they will probably be in another hour, or whenever we get away from this bakery.

“I am glad you still like my biscuits, Andreas.” Dad is smiling at Andreas. “You’ve always eaten a lot of them.  
“They are delicious, Even,” he smiles. “Absolutely fantastic.”  
“Yes, your friend also liked them, didn’t she?”  
I see Andreas getting visibly white. He probably knows as well as me where this conversation will end - somewhere where I wasn’t.

“Uhm, maybe we should pack the cookies now?” Andreas is standing next to the cooling racks.  
“Yes, they should be cold now,” I answer.  
“Dad, where are the cake tins? I guess we should try to leave at least some for our guests,” I say, as Andreas grabs another cookie from the cooling rack.  
“Cake tins…” Even bites his lower lip and scrunches his forehead. “ehhr…”  
“In the basement perhaps?”  
“No, they are not. I was tidying the basement so I moved them. If I could just remember where...” He starts pacing around in the kitchen, opening random cupboards.

“Dad, you have a pile of them. There is no way they are fitting into the cupboards here. They are like… stuffed,” I say, grabbing some spare plastic boxes sliding down from an overflowing shelf piled with a mishmash of boxes and lids. “When was the last time you folks cleaned here,” I ask with a frown before answering my own question. “Probably never. This was Maria’s lunch box from like second grade. Do you remember the unicorn-devil, dad? Auntie Liv got them for us from some artist, I got one with a t-rex-footballplayer, she got the artist to draw something for us and then had it printed on them.” I smile when looking at the old, scratched lids. “Don’t throw away this, dad. I want to keep it.”

Even looks at the green plastic box in my hand and smiles. “I have at least sorted the boxes and lids here, and we kept these for you. It’s a bunch of boxes we have thrown away.” He looks into the shelves again. “Maybe we can use these for the biscuits?” Then he looks between the biscuits and the boxes again. “Or not. We would fill all of them, I guess.”  
“Yes, dad, try to think. Where would you put them? If not in the basement?”  
Even exhales heavily and shuts his eyes as if thinking. “I have no idea,” he sighs.

I get an idea, the obvious one when you can’t find anything in the house. I should have remembered it a long time ago. Well, at least the minute dad admitted they were not in the basement.

I pick up my phone. He answers at the second ring.  
“Hi Fredrik!” My dad’s voice is slightly breathless and I can hear the sound of steps and voices. He is probably walking to the tram, I guess.  
“Hi dad!”  
“Are you awake?”  
“Yes, I am awake.”  
“Andreas, too?”  
“Yes.”  
“So you know that?”  
“Arrrgh, dad!”  
“I guess he found it too cold in the basement, that spoiled brat.”  
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Listen, I have a question.”  
“About the cake tins?”  
“Yes, about the cake tins. How did you guess?”  
“Well, Even was baking when we left.”  
“Sure.”  
“They are in the basement.”  
“But he said…”  
“They are in the basement. Piles up next to Andreas’ bed. Kind of weird he didn’t see them?”  
“Dad!”  
“No, just stating it. Maybe he didn’t notice.”  
“Jikes.” I roll my eyes again, except dad can’t see it, of course. “Anyway, thanks for the tip. Bye, dad.”  
“Good bye, Fredrik,” he says with a cheery voice.

I smile as I shake my head. “Come on, Andreas, let’s go get the cake tins. Isak says they are in the basement. You help me?”

Yes. In the basement. Isak had put them back on the shelf, in a box that was apparently clearly labelled, next to the Easter eggs in a section of the shelf Even had labelled “seasonal items”. And a couple of days ago Isak had moved them from the shelf to the desk next to Andreas’ bed, but forgotten to take them upstairs even though he knew Even was baking.

Now he was rather curious about why Andreas hadn’t noticed them, as he apparently would have to stumble across them to get to his bed.

Busted.

I envision the sign they use in the old Mythbusters-series. Except we are not a myth, we are a fact now.

Two hours later we hear Isak and Lilly in the kitchen. We have put all the biscuits in tins and cleaned the benches, but the tins are piled on the bench next to the fridge, the least used space in the room. There is a sideboard outside my room that we sometimes use as overflood-storage, but I and Andreas were in silent agreement that we didn’t want to encourage sneaking into that hallway, which would obviously happen if the biscuits are stored there. So we cleaned the space next to the fridge and put them there.

We made good use of the two hours. Not that we had sex or anything, well, at least not sex, that would be too awkward after the conversations I had with dad. But we cuddled, maybe even defined as advanced cuddling, if that’s what one calls it when nipples and tongue are involved in the same context. And Andreas complained about my mouth tasting of brown cheese, but after two cups of coffee each, I guess he was just kidding.

The door bangs open again. Apparently Lilly can’t knock, it’s probably a fact. It may be a valid fact for any sister, or at least a hypothesis, we just haven’t tested it properly yet. But experience tells me they are all equally nosy and equally bad at knocking.

“Have you checked on Maria and Lottie?”  
“Uhm…” Andreas looks at me. “I think we forgot?”  
“No, we didn’t forget it.”  
“No, we didn’t do that. We just…”  
“... postponed it!” We are finishing each other’s sentences now, that’s kind of cool, I think.  
She looks between us. “Right. Well, let’s hope they are still breathing, then!” She turns around to walk, but Andreas stops her.

“Wait, Lilly,” he says, his voice is kind. “How was your trip to the city? Is it still there?”  
She bumps smilingly down on the mattress. “It was wonderful! The city is really nice now. All the lights and the white snow… wow! You should have seen it!”  
I look at him. “Maybe we should go? It’s only 14:00 so I guess it’s still open at the market?”  
“No no.” She shakes her head. “Don’t go there. I mean to the market. It’s just commercial shit, nothing really traditional or local,” she says. “The snow and the lights were nice, and they were free, too, the rest is crap. So small and boring compared to the German markets,” she says, looking at Andreas. “But they did have decent gløgg.”

We decide to skip the market for now. It’s two days until Christmas Eve and the stay has been a frenzy so far. Instead we bring my old sledge and walk to a hill not too far away. The sledge was huge when I got it, but with two adult men it’s cramped. Cramped and comfortable, I’d say. The hill is hard and icy and the speed is high, we are taking turns steering the sledge as none of us really know shit. We are shrieking and cheering as we rush down, it somehow feels like the risks in my life are not quite worth it. And then I lean back against Andreas’ chest and it’s completely worth it again.

When we get back it’s time for dinner. Matteo and David are cooking in the kitchen when we get in. I look at Andreas before we enter the room, kind of wondering how to bring him into my room without too many questions. Then we realize that all his clothes are still in the basement. “You should move them to my room,” I say as I nudge his nose. It’s cold against mine, and I need to fight the urge to pull him against me and never let go. Then I pull him in anyway, so I can warm him a bit, he is probably cold, I argue to myself.

“Fredrik? Andreas? Are you there?” It’s Matteo’s voice from the other side of the kitchen door. I look at Andreas and lift my brows, as if asking “should you go downstairs while I meet them and then we will hopefully get rid of them for a while”. But he just shakes his head and looks at me, and in the middle of this wordless conversation the door bangs open again.

Sometimes I wonder what it is with my family and doors. Or rather Andreas’ family and doors, as it’s David standing on the other side, looking cheerfully at us.  
“There you are,” he chuckles. “How was the sledging?”  
“It was great. The sledge was really fast, we could hardly steer it!”  
David looks scared at us. “Seriously? That’s not safe, Andreas!”  
Andreas rolls his eyes and cast a glance at me, “Vatiiii!” he complains. Then they start talking in German. The words are running back and forth between them, they are both strong souls.

The problem is that I understand every word of a conversation clearly not meant for me. And now I have no idea how to get away from it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments, we really appreciate them! As you can see the epilogue has grown from one chapter to... wtf, 15? (Apparently my partner in crime has has a planning attack today, but as she is right most of the time, I guess she is right about the chapter count as well. We might not be finished this year, then.)
> 
> For those of you celebrating most of Christmas today, I hope you have had a fantastic day. And the same goes for those who celebrated Christmas Eve yesterday, and also in general for those not celebrating at all. Hope all readers had a nice day!


	37. That Epilogue Christmassy thingy part 7

## MATTEO

David is out shovelling snow again, this time on the neighbours drive. He's probably getting some of his frustration out of his body with the strong firm grip he has on the shovel and the deep huffs that no doubt are escaping out of his mouth with every shove and throw of snow. I don’t blame him, he misses out on his daily workouts when we are here and I won’t let him run on his own in the snow. I know I am being stupid, but I can just see him tripping and falling and freezing to death in the forest whilst I sit here worrying myself stupid. I suppose he is working off steam from that heated discussion where he kind of lost his shit with Andreas too. I could only make out parts of what they were saying but I know where David stands when it comes to Andreas. He needs to man up. We all know that Andreas is just like me, and would rather run and hide than deal with the truth. David is the badass parent. Me? I chill on the outside and worry myself sick on the inside instead.

My anxieties have gotten worse with age, I know that. I am currently battling with myself over if I should accept the offer of just working 75 percent instead of the full time shift pattern that is slowly killing me. I am still putting in too many hours of overtime at the hospital, but then there is so much to be done, so many cases. I also want to go to the conference in Rome with Dr Rametta, not only because it is focused smack bang on our field, but also because going to Italy with Martino would be a blast and I would be able to go visit the place where my Dad’s ashes were scattered.. Perhaps. I don’t know. David would come with me, he has some overtime he could cash in on, and….

I’m not depressed. I am not getting depressed. I am just tired, and this trip is everything I was hoping for it to be. It usually is. Going away and having some quality time with Isak is like a mood-lifter in itself. He just sits there and lets me talk rubbish about advanced stitch technology and skin graft improvements using lab grown human mesh. Then he tells me about astrophysics and shit I barely comprehend and we both laugh at each other’s shortfalls. He makes good coffee. We make the silences just that, comfortable. We balance each other out in a friendship that has lasted longer than I ever thought when I booked that holiday all those years ago. I gained a friend. David gained a family. I picked up two stray kids who have made me just as proud as my own. Maria calls me Papi and sends me messages almost every day. She has a groupchat called _Daddyissues_ where she treats the four of us, well us Dads, to daily snippets from her teaching career, memes and screenshots of her students exam answers that make me chuckle. 

I’m tired. But it’s a different tiredness here, where everything is magically beautified by the snow, the darkness, the twinkling lights everywhere and the candles in every window. It calms my soul, and now I sound like a full blown twat, but it does. I calm. Just looking around at the framed photos on the walls, many of them telling the story of the last ten years of this family. A family that we are now fully part of, there is no doubt about that. We are in those photos, and they are in pictures all over our fridge door at home. We are all entwined on social media and our kids love eachother. Well some, more than others if you go by the sounds coming from the other side of the kitchen. 

( _artwork by Crazyheart/@hjertetssunnegalskap1 on Tumblr_ )

"Even, turn the music up. mate?" I shout as Isak lets a deep sigh out of his mouth, momentarily looking up from his tablet.

“Yo Matteo!” Even says, stomping into the living room carrying a tray and a bowl that no doubt contains something diabetes inducing. “Make those hands useful and roll this out into 40 something small balls.”

“How small do you like your balls?” I wink with a cheeky giggle. 

“I like my balls in pairs, you of all people should know this,” he winks back. “Firm and a little hairy.”

“Ugh. I think I will stick to your dough balls here. What flavour?” I say, nipping at a piece of dough and letting the sweet buttery gunk fill my mouth.

“Salted Caramel. Maria just found a new recipe.”

“Evyyy,” Isak groans. “You are going to kill us with all these biscuits.” 

“Chill, bby,” Even laughs and flicks some dough off his hands towards Isak. “These are for the nursing home, I’ll deliver them later, and anyway, it keeps me sane. Just something to do. I have two more rounds to deliver to the food bank. Should I do some for the Shelter project?”

“You should come and sit down and watch a movie.”

“You and my man Matteo here are just waiting for that, eh? The moment I sit down to watch something and then you will force me to watch Die Hard, and my blood pressure will go through the roof.”

“It is not de proper Christmas until Hans Gruber has fallen off the Nakatomi Plaza, you know that, Evy,” I say in my best German accent. 

“Ho ho ho, Motherfucker!” he says and disappears back out into the kitchen, leaving me with dough all over my hands and a smile on my face.

“It’s _Yippekayee, Motherfucker_.” I say grabbing a handful of dough out of the bowl, smiling at Isak who just shakes his head.. 

“Pass me half of that,” He says, and shuffles closer to me on the sofa so he can reach, grabbing the dough from my hand and placing it in a lump on the coffee table. 

“Food hygiene,” I whisper.

“Fuck off, Dr Florenzi. No scrubs allowed, it’s Christmas.”

“We don’t want to give the poor patients at the Nursing home dodgy biscuits,” I giggle, smiling broadly as he gives me a pretend shocked face.

“My home is sparkling clean. I can assure you that,” he hisses, drawing his face into a look that only makes me laugh out loud.

“Just roll your balls and shut up,” I snicker, kneading the dough between my fingers.

“Just roll your own balls and shut up,” he retaliates. 

“Isak, how is Fredrik?” I ask. I need to, because to be honest, the state of my own son worries me no end right now. The girls? The girls are great. They are open and honest and fly by the moment. Nothing phases them and I thank whomever is in charge of the world that neither of them seem to have inherited my damn depressive genes, nor David’s constant doubts and worries. Andreas, though? He’s got it all.

“He’s coping, I think. I know we have talked about this before, but Andreas is, all considering, good for him. Fredrik’s a lot like Evy, he doesn’t always realize it, but he needs someone to take care of him, to push him when he needs it and calm him when he goes into overdrive. Fredrik has not been happy, probably more so in the last year. He’s lost his sparkle, the drive in his studies. He says it’s felt like he’s on autopilot and that is never good. Not in his field.”

“I know that feeling, I get it at work sometimes. When it all seems to lack sense, and I question why the hell I have just spent 9 hours in surgery when it won’t make a damn bit of difference in the end.”

“You save lives,” he says, staring at me like only Isak can, when he wants you to listen. Really listen.

“Not always. Sometimes things go horribly wrong. Sometimes we make things worse.”

“It’s very similar in research. You can spend months on a project, for it all to fall flat. It makes you feel like a fool, for even thinking that you were on to something. You save lives. You try to make things better. Remember the woman you told me about, the one from last week? Bleed out on the table after giving birth. Everyone said to call it, apart from you. You had hope. You pushed. The woman lived to see her baby. That family are celebrating Christmas this week, she might still be very unwell, but you did that. It was your call. 

“I didn’t want to call it,” I mutter, feeling my chest go tight. “All I could think of, was my David once lying on that table. He made it. I couldn’t let someone else’s life shatter. Not now. Not on my shift.”

“I know,” Isak says, trying to calm me with silence. "How is Andreas? Have you talked to him?"

“Andreas is trying. He’s 27, and lives at home. He can’t settle down, never even tries to find someone. I can see it in him. He lives in the past, churning over a stupid mistake he made when he was at his lowest, over and over again like he can’t forgive himself. He loves your boy. We all do. I just don’t want Fredrik to feel pressured into starting up something that will break them both if it goes wrong.”

"Andreas is a good kid. He just struggled, like we all did, trying to figure out who the hell he is supposed to be."

"It makes me look like a failure. I set out to be the parent who was prepared for everything. I was going to bring up kids who were well balanced and confident. Instead I ended up with three nutcases."

"They are all nutcases, our kids. But they are our nutcases. Fucking kids."

"Never ending worries."

"At least Lils and Lotts are brilliant girls. Lilly is so bloody funny. "

"Never stops talking, and she is brutal with Andreas. Which is good. He needs to hear some truths once in a while."

“I kept saying to Evy that it was a mistake to make Andreas come. Perhaps we should have let Fredrik settle back into life here before forcing the boys to spend time together.”

“They are both adults, if they didn’t want to be here, they wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, I know. “

“It’s good for David to be here.”

“It always is.”

“Are you able to reply with a sentence containing more than three words?”

“Fuck off and roll your goddamn balls, man.”

“Fuck you,” I laugh. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Boxing day! Or Annandag jul or whatever you call it where you are! We are still here, and this Epilogue thingy is growing into a monster. It's been brilliant fun to write over the last weeks, and we are still having fun with it, fighting over who's voice will be the last to be heard. We still have surprises. We have laughter. We have gorgeous art from some of your favourite fan artists, and big thank you to Crazyheart who let us use her beautiful Davenzi/Evak drawing for this.


	38. That Epilogue Christmassy thingy part 8

##  ANDREAS 

I’ve felt almost high all day, high on endorphins, and sex and him. He always had that effect on me, even when we were barely out of our teens. He looked at me and I would shiver. He idolized me, I kind of knew that, but it changed to something else, and that’s what frightened the living daylights out of me. 

In a way I have always seen it in my parents. Co-dependency. I used to pride myself on not needing anyone. I was independent. Making my own way in the world. Yeah, right. Look where that got me. I had that big epic breakdown, and once I slowly surfaced and started riding the waves of life again? I slipped. I hit rock bottom. Again and again. You learn to live with it after a while. Climbing up to the surface, your hands bloodied from the rockface, and then you slip, cutting every healing wound open again. Sounds dramatic when I try to explain it, but I suppose that is depression. Anxiety. Good days. Bad days. Fucking awful days. 

My Papi has lived with it all his life, and he has still managed to become everything I admire about him. He is respected. People travel from all over the world to have a consultation with Dr Rametta and Dr Florenzi, the world renown experts in gender reassignment and specialist gynecological care. Post partum repairs. Vaginoplasty. All the posh sounding names that instill respect and awe, but then you meet Dad and Martino and wonder how the hell anyone lets them near a scalpel. They speak loud animated Italian to each other and drink red wine and all hell breaks loose. Vati loves Dr Rametta, and he goes all flustered when Dr Rametta’s husband is around. Well, that dude was apparently some kind of Elite model in his heyday and I should really google him and see what else he did in his youth, because I can’t really see it. He’s handsome, fine, but nothing special. Not like. Not like the blonde viking that leans over so I can crawl into bed with him. Fully clothed. Like we just haven't spent ten minutes making the bed and now we are ready to soil it again. 

“Talk to me,” Freddie says, and his whole body is tense. Not good. 

“What have I done now?” I say weakly, feeling about ten years old again. 

“Honesty,” he says. “Your Vati just hated on me bigtime.”

“Vati adores you. What kind of bullshit is that?”

“He said I can’t handle you, and that you will ruin my life. That you can’t look after yourself, let alone start a long distance relationship with someone that doesn’t trust a word coming out of your mouth.”

I sigh, a little too loud, but he’s right. He always is. 

“Vati is overreacting….” I start, but then I turn over so I am face to face with him, letting my fingers tangle in his hair, as he mirrors my movements, letting his own fingers come to rest at the back of my neck. “Vati is also right. I am 27 years old and I don’t do well living on my own. I tried, Freddie. I moved away for college, and I fucked up. Took me 2 years longer than everyone else to finish my degree, because I was lonely and depressed most of the time. I missed my family. I struggled financially, and didn’t have the guts to ask for help. I was never like you, all organized and sensible. Papi and Vati kept asking if I was ok, and I wasn’t. I still couldn’t tell them.”

“We all make mistakes and struggle. Don’t think that my time in America has been a bed of bloody roses,” he says, letting his fingers stroke my skin. It calms me. Like he might be pissed off with me, but we’re still ok. So far.

“I got myself a job, and a flat. Spent almost a year living there, and things were getting better. I was good at my job, I liked my colleagues and I signed up for some more courses to complete my degree, you know, I saw my supervisors and the behavioural therapists working, and I wanted that, I wanted to do what they did. For the first time in my life I had direction, and it felt good, you know? Took on a load of extra shifts, studied like crazy and then failed the first exam. I don’t have to tell you what happened next.”

“I might have been silent in your life, Andreas, but I always knew what was going on. I know that you got evicted because you had defaulted on your rent despite having cash in the bank. Lilly was crying on the phone, because you just wouldn’t listen. She told me she was moving in with you to look after you, and then she rang me crying because of the state of you.”

“I think I am missing that adult gene. The one where you kind of go all sensible and figure all your shit out.”

“You’re fine, baby,” he says in that soothing voice of his, where he holds me tighter than he really needs to. “That was one of those moments when I half packed my bags to fly home and go sort you out, and then I remembered that you didn’t love me anymore and that I wouldn’t be welcome.”

“I always loved you. Even when I was too messed up to remember that I did. And you always told me how much you struggled with your Dad, how he scared you, and how you always worried he would one day fall off the edge of sanity. I didn’t want you to have to worry about me too. I told Vati and Papi not to say anything to you, I begged them.”

“You know what our parents are like, they are the biggest gossip queens in the world. Whatever we do, all the gossip, moves around in this family like wildfire. I eventually find out everything, apart from something about a threesome? I was never told about that.” He leans in and kisses my lips. “And that’s OK.”

“It’s not. I will mess up again. I will do something stupid and forget to pay my phone bill or something. I failed my driving test because I forgot to turn up. I can’t be trusted to do anything.” 

“You can. Just don’t sign up for any more threesomes. No more hookups. No more.” 

“I made up some funny story about that threesome, to make everyone laugh. The truth…”

I snort. I hate this. I hate that I am so weak and stupid. 

“Tell me,” he says softly.

“ I….We didn’t even get our clothes off. She kissed me and I burst into tears. End of. I sat on their sofa and sobbed my eyes out. Then I went home and googled how to die from embarrassment, because I was pretty sure that was the end of me. I deleted my Grindr and Tinder and everything. That was a pretty low moment, even for me.”

It’s nice to see him smile. See the dimples in his cheeks form. The little kisses he places all over my forehead. 

“Your Vati said you were about to epically fuck up.”

“I’m not. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Not ever. Not now. But…”

“Yes?” 

“I can’t do long distance. I can’t do this with you here and me in Berlin.”

“We’re not doing long distance,” he says, a-matter-of-factly. “I’m too old for that shit. I want you with me, we need to find somewhere to live, and I need to get a job.”

“I, I can’t just resign,” I say, and my voice is full of dread. This isn’t easy. Honesty is fucking hard. 

“Tell me what you need,” he says. 

“A blow job.” 

“Now?”

“Nah, just trying to buy myself a minute of courage.” 

That makes him sigh and roll his eyes. Just like his father. It’s funny how alike they are. How Uncle Isak keeps this whole family stable. Organized. Micromanaging us all even though he would never own up to it. Carefully plotted schedules dropping in our inboxes, usually the first week of January. Holiday weeks. Birthdays. Christmas. Lists. 

“If I just upped and left, my kids, the patients I work with. It would set them back weeks. Months even. I couldn’t do that. I love those kids. They rely on me to be there, to work with them, and keep their schedules. These things are rigid, it’s how they tick.”

“I know that. That’s fair,” he says slowly, tasting the words whilst I know his brain is ticking over. Trying to find a solution.

“I’ve got savings, I could rent somewhere and keep us both happy. You could study German or something. Find a job. Just for a few months so I could introduce the person who would take over and set everything up. Make sure everything runs smoothly. After that I will go with you, anywhere you want to go. If you want to go back to America…”

“I don’t care,” he says sternly. “Don’t be silly. I will go anywhere you are. If you need to be in Berlin, I will come to you.”

“We barely know each other anymore. What if after a few weeks you get pissed off with me?” 

We both laugh. It’s comforting, having his body pressed tightly against mine. His hands around my face.

“I’m moving to Berlin then, and then we will figure it out. Wherever we can both work, and live and be happy. That’s where we will settle.”

“Like throwing darts at a map. Find a random place, and just go for it?”

“Somewhere close to both our families. Copenhagen?”

“I have to learn Danish?”

“You need to learn German first,” I huff, letting my tongue paint a line on his nose. 

“I took advanced German for three years, you arsehole,” he replies in perfect German, stunning me into silence. “So shut your gob and kiss me.”

  
  
  


_(art by Viria on Tumblr. All credit to the artist. Used for mood, and I thought it looked a little like what I imagine Fredrik and Andreas to look like now. Minus the Elf ears. But then it is Christmas.)_


	39. That Epilogue Christmassy thingy part 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porridge, Christmas tree, napkins and northern lights...

****

**FREDRIK**

I wake up first of us on “the day before the day”, as we call it here. I already know what we will do today. 

First, there will be too many of us trying to be the master of getting the tree inside. It’s on the terrace now, right outside the living room. It will soon be moved downstairs into the cool basement for a few hours before we get it upstairs again and into the living room. The entire process is always messy, with a lot of wet spots of melted snow on the floor and harpix sticking to our fingers. We always argue about whether we actually need to carry it downstairs, since it’s never really cold outside anyway, so perhaps we could just move it one meter inside and water it with ice cold water and that be it. 

Then we will get the boxes of ornaments and decorations and open them and talk about them, and my dads will get all teary-eyed when they find the old hearts with “you are not alone” and “alt er love”, and the ornaments they have given each other every year since forever. Then they will cry out loud when Maria and I open our boxes with the ornaments we have gotten since we were babies, and they will say, like they have said for ten years now, that we can bring them with us after Christmas so we can decorate our own Christmas trees with them. And we all know that won’t happen yet, although I hope I may need them for another tree somewhere next Christmas. In Berlin or Göttingen or Hamburg or wherever we end up. I have already asked around in my network of students and professors, if they know any open positions in Germany. I am not sure I want to go the research way, but it’s worth a try and some of them are probably in the industry, too.

And when the tree is decorated, we will dash around the house looking for our gifts and at least one of us will panic because they can’t find their gifts, and then we will pile them under the tree for tomorrow evening, complaining that it’s too much and that we shouldn’t consume so much and we are too old for gifts and yet we all get a load each. Mine are in a huge IKEA-bag downstairs, I ordered them and had them delivered here. 

Someone will always hurry out to get some gifts they have forgotten. I guess it will be Maria and Lottie this year, they seem least organized. I already know Lilly has her gifts here, she told me about some of them yesterday. And Isak has their stuff in order, and Even has never forgotten to get Isak’s gift, not even in his worst periods, so that will be fine. 

And then we will have rice porridge for dinner and someone will find the almond and get a marzipan pig. When Maria and I were kids, we probably got more than our share and even one each of the almond gifts, but our dads are really bad losers and wouldn’t let us win the race for the almond without it being even. It’s the same in games, the best will always win. Or the one with most luck, but never the youngest or the one who has lost most. Isak and Even have been really aware about that, no cheating to let us win.

In the evening we will try to gather in front of the TV to watch _“The evening before the evening”,_ the traditional pre-Christmas show NRK will never dare to remove from the TV listings. Everyone watches it, and even if they didn’t there would be an uproar if it wasn’t on. 

We will all huddle together on the couch, we all used to fit on there when we were younger and me and Andreas inevitably cuddled in one end of the huge corner sofa, with Lilly and Lottie curled against our legs and Maria next to them, David and Matteo at the other end and Even and Isak in the chairs or running back and forth with more snacks or doing errands. Over time we drifted together to a union, with all of us getting up and about to do things. And we’ve grown, the couch is no longer big enough for all of us. Andreas and I kicked the girls off last time and none of us are smaller now. I guess David and Matteo have to move, or the girls will slide down to the floor and build a pillow bed, making it a fight for the pillows between us on the couch and them on the floor. It will probably end up in a pillow fight, and David will join in first even if he is the one always questioning the safety of everything and then Matteo will start hitting him, so softly, and then Even will yell and call us morons before joining in, and Isak will just smile at how silly we are. 

The show itself? It is obviously often dull, that’s why none of us really know what it’s about, but it gets us in the mood. And sometimes there are some really touching segments that make even my tough sister reach for the tissues, like that singer who survived bullying for being a choir boy when he was a kid and then beamed at finally performing his own music in _“The evening before the evening”_ and announced his concert at the Opera House.

And if the show is too bad, one can always get up to help Even set the table or get more biscuits or wine for everyone. But when _“Dinner for one”_ starts, everyone is suddenly in front of the TV with their sherry glasses.

But before all this I need to get rid of the warm, soft squid entangling my body. I have an arm across my chest and his legs are entwined with mine. I’m not surprised to find that I’m not wearing my boxers and his crotch is hot against my own. His other arm is supporting my neck, and when I try to move, my hair is stuck between his fingers.

I smile at him, feeling my lips tickle his shoulder. My arms are around him, one is dead under his ribcage, the other is resting across his hips with my fingers spread at the top of his buttocks. If I move them a bit, I am pretty sure he will wake up with a finger near his arse.

And then I move them a bit.

And then the day passed exactly like it I knew it would.

The Christmas tree got its trip into the basement and ended up leaning slightly towards the window. 

Even and Isak had their moment over the ornament box, slightly trembling fingers across the old hearts and bulbs and figures, tender kisses, glittering eyes, laughter and more kisses. Even got a hilarious Captain Mermaid figure from Isak, and Isak got a small, green glittering Christmas tree that looked suspiciously like a small buttplug decorated with sequins and small pearls and threads of glue gun remains. I didn’t hear everything he said to Even, but he blushed and lowered his voice, but I heard him say something about “no, Even, it’s not…” and I am not sure I want to hear the rest of it. Because, ewww.

Andreas helped me put the ornaments from my box on the tree, and we looked at each other and I think we both thought the same when Even muttered half-loud about that they may have to buy more ornaments if the kids bring their boxes with them soon.

Maria didn’t find her gifts so after a while she started sneaking down to dads’ wine cellar with a pile of gift bags to steal wine, but Isak caught her in the act and calmly told her that her gifts were under her bed in her room, and wasn’t she supposed to have vacuumed there before Lilly and Lottie arrived so why didn’t she find them?

And the pile under the tree is huge. It’s hardly under the tree, it’s more like melted lava running all along the huge veranda windows, effectively barring any visit from Santa Claus from that direction, luckily we’re all too old for that now. Maybe we’ll be the ones to surprise the neighbouring kids or Yousef and Sana’s first grand child this year, I think. 

Even found the almond in the porridge, and as always he shared the huge marzipan pig Matteo and David had brought between us. The soft Lübecker Marzipan is so much better than the dry, sweet marzipan we usually get here in Norway.

When we have eaten, we start setting the dinner table for the next day. It’s nice and stylish with a white linen table cloth and golden place mats, regular white plates because that one year we used grandma’s old porcelain, the plates remained unwashed for a week and started to smell because nobody wanted to take the greasy dishes. It obviously didn’t get better over the week, but in the end Matteo did it. My Dads gave him a bottle of wine from the year he was born afterwards.

The silverware is old, though, but it goes into the dishwasher, and the glasses are a mishmash of crystal they have gathered over the years. “It all goes into the dishwasher at least once,” Even shrugged once. Not all of it twice, though.

Andreas and I start to fold napkins. It’s kind of funny to make a fan from them.

“Can you fold this like a swan?” Andreas laughs and looks at the crumbled napkin in his hands.

“Sure. I am the master of napkin folding,” I answer with a straight face.

I smirk but my body is all tense. I’m not used to this many people having their nose in my business. Too close. Too many cuddles, too many hands on my body and too much sensory overload. I feel a little strangled. Suffocated by the emotions inside of me as well as the pressure to give everyone around me what they need. They all want a piece of me. And right now I can’t even keep hold of myself. 

Lilly and Lottie are standing next to the table, staring expectantly at us. I ignore the, trying to force my napkin into some kind of recognizable shape. Or at least something resembling the video we just watched on YouTube. 

“So… napkin folding…” one of them says. I can hear a chuckle behind her voice.

“Yes… that’s pretty gay, isn’t it?”

“Yes. But I guess they are gay then.”

I glare at them. As if glares could kill, I hope.

“Oh, he is cute,” she continues, looking at her sister.

“Who is cute?” Maria is peeking in from behind.

“Your gay brother.”  
“Is he? Never thought of him like that.”

“He is obviously gay,”

“No, cute, I mean.”

“He is gay and cute. Gays are cute.”

“That’s kind of a generalization, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but he _is_ cute. They both are. They are a cute couple.”

I crumble the cursed napkin and throw it at the table. “Enough.” I look at them with violence in my eyes. “Do the damned napkins yourself, princesses.”

I turn to Andreas. It looks like he is hiding a smile. “What are you laughing at?” I ask. 

“Nothing. Come, let’s go,” he says as he gets up.

I follow him without hesitation. Another day I might have questioned why, but today I have just had enough of my family. There have been too many people, too much nosiness, too many unasked questions, too many people walking around me as if they have known about me and Andreas for years. Which is annoying, since we have been a “we” for less than 24 hours.

Andreas ushers me through the overcrowded living room to the hallway, putting my coat on me and leading my feet into me boots before knitting a long, striped scarf around my neck. He dresses himself, too, his dark green cap, a grey scarf that looks as soft as his skin.

“You’re supposed to help yourself before helping others,” I smile. 

“I am helping myself by helping you. Can’t live without you.” He leans in to kiss me. His lips taste of wine and caramel biscuits and chocolate. “Come, let’s go,” he says again.

I know where he is taking me once we turn left outside the house. The supermarket and the bus stop are in the opposite direction, and besides the store is closed and I don’t know where we’d take the bus at close to eleven in the evening the day before Christmas eve. 

We are walking fast, in a coordinated rhythm without marching in step, both of us are leading on the other, our hands are attached, his fingers are warm and soft against mine, I braid them with mine, I want to feel as much as I can of him, I am glad we didn’t put on mittens even though the evening is quite chilly at -10 C or so. Really not a night to sleep in the basement, I think with a tingle in my belly, glad I’ll be saving him from that.

The evening is dark and silent. The street lamps are casting their white light in a spot below the lamp, making the area around look empty. It’s calm and quiet. We have walked for a few minutes and have yet to see any people, not even a stray cat.

We turn from the main road, onto a smaller road with more scattered lamps. “We should have brought a headlamp,” I mutter.

“Nah, I guess we’ll find the way,” Andreas says. He looks up at the half moon and at myself. “You’re my light anyway,” he laughs.

“That’s cheezy, Herr Schreibner-Florenzi.”

“Herr Florenzi-Schreibner.” 

Andreas laughs, kissing my cheek, and rolling his eyes at my life long tease. His name is ridiculous. As ridiculous as mine is. Full of stories and connected lives. Lovestories. Names entwined that tell the story of a love that has lasted a lifetime. “At least the moon is bright,” he nods towards the bright path leading between the trees. It’s not far, we are not going into the middle of the forest, just about 50 metres in. It used to be my secret forest when I was a kid, I ran around there with my friends and played whatever we played then, except football, because that would be in the field on the other side of the main road. 

The first time I took Andreas there was to escape my nosy dads and sister, when he visited me alone the year after we met. We went there because it was the only place I could imagine bringing him right then, far enough away to hide, close enough to not explode from the heat filling my tight jeans. I came within minutes behind the large stone there, resting my back to it with his head between my thighs, reciprocating moments later.

And after that it kind of became our place, even though we didn’t always have sex there. After all the place is pretty close to the neighbours, and I didn’t want them to see or hear, obviously. But it was a nice place to hide away for a while, just sit there without saying anything, just being there together.

The stone is covered by snow, so we just stand by it. I kiss him. He tastes of cold, cold air, cold lips, cold nose, his jacket is cold under my hands and I can’t slide them under his clothes to feel him, so I clutch to him instead. 

He bends his head back and exposes his neck. I eagerly nip it, letting my lips plant small kisses along it, sniffing him, licking a cold stripe along the carotid artery while he pulls me closer. “Look,” he whispers and nudges me.

The sky above us is covered by green waves moving above us. The green is almost fluorescent, drifting towards the other colours in the spectrum, yellow, orange, red, almost pink, then blue and violet on the other side.

I have never seen aurora this bright and colourful before. When we were at Svalbard with my dad during winter, we saw it, but only in stark green. Above Oslo I have hardly seen it, there is too much light pollution, but tonight it somehow feels darker, or perhaps it’s because we are far enough from the light not to be blinded from it. Sometimes you have to see the darkness to see the light. 

I love the complex mystery behind auroras. On one hand they are easy, they are a result of disturbances in the magnetosphere caused by solar wind. These disturbances are sometimes strong enough to alter the trajectories of charged particles in both solar wind and magnetospheric plasma. These particles, mainly electrons and protons, precipitate into the upper atmosphere and the resulting ionization and excitation of atmospheric constituents emit light of varying color and complexity. 

Easy.

The colours are also easy. Light will have different wavelengths at different altitudes, so sometimes it becomes red and sometimes blue and sometimes the wavelengths are between and the colours become different.

But still my colleagues lack a full understanding of the physical processes which lead to different types of auroras. We can observe it and see what happens, but not why and how, and despite my desire to understand nature, I find this lack of explanation weirdly fascinating. 

“This is completely unique,” I mutter to him. His cheek is warm against mine, despite the bitter cold. “It’s not like the star constellations.”

He looks questioningly at me. 

“We can stand in different places on earth and basically see the same stars, or the ceiling will be different, but whenever we both see a star or a constellation from where we are, we will basically see it in the same way. But auroras are different. They will never be the same again, and if we move they will be different. So even if we both look at auroras at the same time, they will be different auroras.”

The thought is a bit lonely. As if we are all alone in the world. I pull him closer and just hold him, we stand there still, looking at the colourful bands dancing over the ceiling and at the white clouds we are breathing out in the darkness, and slowly the feeling of being alone disappears.

When we get back home again, it’s calm inside. The TV off, carols are playing low in the background. Lilly and Lottie are folding napkins at the table, giggling in front of a laptop showing some intricate folding procedure. Andreas goes downstairs to pack his bags, we can as well clean out the office for dad in case he wants to use it over Christmas. No use in the horrible inflatable bed taking up the space, at least.

Maria is emptying the dishwasher, it’s been run for the ump’teenth time today. A pile of baking bowls are stacked on the bench, as usual dad hasn’t cleaned them.

  
“Where is everyone?” I ask her, fetching the pile of plates she gives me and putting them at the upper shelf of the cupboard. 

“Dads are out, David and Matteo have gone to bed.” She lifts her eyebrows.

“And the Ls are folding napkins?” I ask with a frown.

“Yeah, they didn’t want to wait for you.” She smiles. “Look, I am sorry if we offended you. It really wasn’t our intention, we just…” 

I smile back and shake my head. “No, no problem. I just had enough for a moment. Too many people,” I say.

“Yes.” She looks at the bowls behind her and the army of mugs next to the sink. “Nine people is quite a lot.”

“Takes a teacher to manage,” I joke. “It’s only half a class, though.”

“Ha ha, very funny.”

I look at her, probably for the first time this Christmas, properly, I mean. She is beautiful, my sister. Green eyes, like myself, fair hair, dimples, her skin is clean on makeup and glitter now, her face open and smiling, not the half-off expression when she was slightly tipsy from the gluhwein the other day.

“How are you, Maria?” I ask.

“Fine,” she answers, a tad bit too fast. “Why?”

“I am just curious. I care about my big sister.”

Her smile deepens the dimples. “So you do.”  
“Yes, I do. I am not always good at showing it, but I do.”

“At least you came home for Christmas this year.”

I smile at her. “I did. And I am glad I did.”

Her arms are warm around my neck as she hugs me. “At least one of us got our happily ever after,” she whispers against my skin, it feels like her mouth is drawn up into a smile, but it could be any grimace, to be honest.

And then Andreas comes from the basement, carrying his heavy bag and a pillow, and all I can do is to hug her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kind comments! We are grateful for any idea you folks come up with, and unfortunately we can't promise we will leave all the ideas alone. (Although Pagni _is_ trying to keep Sophia at some kind of track here!)


	40. That Epilogue Christmassy thingy part 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isak and Even goes for a walk in the cold winter night.

****

**ISAK**

I startle as the door bangs shut, and the voices are suddenly silent. Only the TV is still on.

“What happened?” I ask. I have been watching _The evening before the evening_ , a wonderful segment with an opera singer performing Ave Maria, and it brought back memories from my childhood. His voice was like the one in a recording my mum had, a woman in a long, glittering dress on the front, we listened to it every Christmas, and I mum said she was singing like an angel. This artist’s sound is the same, I never grasp how they can get their voice so far up without dying. I sometimes go to church, and the worst I know is when they start out too high, because I can’t transpose the songs down to a manageable level.  
“Who is singing?” Even asks, suddenly curious.  
“Adrian something. Never heard about him,” I say.  
“How many opera singers do you know, hun?” he laughs, scrunching his forehead muttering something to himself.  
“What happened?” I ask again, turning around towards Lilly and Lottie and Maria standing around the dinner table, looking kind of guilty.  
“Andreas and Fredrik went out,” Maria mutters.  
“Ok.”  
“Did you say they were a cute couple because they are gay?” Even looks offended at them.  
“It was just a joke,” Lottie says.  
“I didn’t mean it,” Lissy adds.  
“I said it was a generalization,” Maria protests.  
Even rolls his eyes. “Yes, indeed.”

He straightens up. “Kiddos, listen. I don’t want you to talk like that.”  
“Not in our house,” I add.  
“No, not at all,” Even protests. “And not because it’s discriminating or homophobic or hate speech, but because it is a hurtful generalization and believe me, these guys will hear enough of that, too,” he sighs.

I swallow. I know what he means. Life has usually been fine, we’ve had no major episodes in the homophobia departement, but the small comments have been there, in the open and in our minds. From teachers doubting our skills with the kids, strangers telling the kids to “go tell their mum”, from people just assuming things about us and our lives. I guess straight couples also get the same kind of generalizing comments, and single parents and low-income families and people of colour, and sometimes they probably feel it’s because they are single or female or male or poor or coloured or immigrants or religious or tired or whatever reasons may be behind a careless comment.

That doesn’t make our feelings less valid, it doesn’t make the comments less frustrating, it doesn’t help us not to feel like a failure or that we made a wrong choice when having kids. I kind of feel an urgent need to hug Fredrik and Maria and tell them I love them, that they are the best things in my life, besides Even, but then I remember Fredrik is not here and Maria is looking guilty as pledged.

“Just… just mind your words,” he says, frowning again, but his mind seems elsewhere as he turns towards the TV again, then pulling out his phone to check something.

I suddenly feel restless. I have been stressing a lot recently, organizing Christmas, planning meals and shopping for nine. We usually have the same meals every Christmas, pork ribs for Christmas Eve, like Even’s family have had forever, with a vegetarian steak option for those choosing not to eat meat, which have been anything from one to six people over the years, and not steadily increasing. I think the only one never opting for the vegetarian course have been myself, partly because I like pork ribs and partly because I am stubborn and don’t want to give them right when they say the vegan Christmas steak is as good as my own fat, overcooked ribs... I can happily eat vegetarian any other day of the year, though, just not on Christmas Eve.

But that’s not the only meal to shop for. We invite all our family for lunch on Christmas Day, so that will be five from Even’s side and my dad and his new wife and maybe a stepson and his family, I have to check if they will come or not, and my sister and her husband and kid, maybe my mum, too, and sometimes uncle Kåre, but not this year, making it at least 10 extra people, or perhaps 15. But the lunch is easy, just a big breakfast, and early enough during the holiday week that the boys have hopefully not eaten all the food yet, they eat less now than they did when they were younger.

Then we have salmon on Boxing day, only the nine of us, and my family used to have sheep ribs during Christmas, and we’ve continued that tradition, so we have to make that as well. I have remembered to get candles for the family graves and we bought wreaths at the market earlier. Sana and Yousef may come over for dinner, too, although they are probably fed up of only being invited for sheep ribs or fish wherever they go for Christmas visits.

And we need breakfasts and lunches for all nine of us. There are piles of leftovers all the time, organizing the fridges and the freezer is a mess. And it’s not a task to share, we have long time ago decided that it’s best that one of us does the planning and shopping and storing, and the others just share the bill. I have honestly forgotten when we learned this, but the learning certainly happened the hard way, and probably involved a full fridge, a lot of food we couldn’t store and an unhealthy amount of yelling. But we are all still married, so I guess whoever it was recovered.

So I was out shopping the main ingredients for the upcoming dinners yesterday, and we had a huge delivery of the other groceries today, and I have basically felt like a personal shopping assistant unpacking and putting away all the food. It looks like something we’ll never finish, but I know we will be out of food again before New Year’s Eve and then Even will prepare a huge bread dough to raise overnight and on the morning of New Years Day the first one to get up will bake them. Usually it’s not me or Even. A guess is that it will be Andreas and Fredrik this year, a chance to get some privacy on a day when nobody wants to beat them at it.

But now I just want to move, not just between the fridge and the boxes on the bench, but go outside, walk, stretch my legs. “Even, fancy go for a walk?” I ask.  
“A walk?”  
“Yes, I need to move. My legs are next to cramping, I’ve been playing housewife all day.”  
“Housewife? You? Who has been cooking?”  
“Who has been planning and organizing every meal for the next week?”  
“Sure.” He laughs at me, the glittering blue eyes I fell in love with ages ago.

We’ve been so much better for each other over the past years. Less stress, more love, I am doing only research again, Even is a producer at NRK, currently on a 3 year contract, time to develop ideas not just pitch them and hope for the best. No more crappy cinema ads or commercial segments, no more administrative workload and social committee work.

We put on our clothes and go outside. It’s been snowing a bit, and two sets of footsteps leading from the door are visible. Two pairs of size 44 shoes, the steps next to each other, a foot apart, going together. We follow them, but when they turn left at the gate, I nudge Even to the right.  
“I know where they are,” I smile. “Let’s go somewhere else.”

We walk along the silent road, nobody else is out, no people, no cars. It’s a cosy night, cold and snowy, and filling me with Christmas mood. The suburb is calm, it’s a cosy residential area, on a hill above Oslo, too many trees to have a proper view from most places, but nice and lush, and we’ve been living here since before the kids were born.

I take him to a hill about ten minutes walk from home. The view here is amazing, and we have been here a lot with the kids. We used to go sledging here in the winter. There is a small forest here as well, the view there is is even better, but with all the snow over the past days it’s not easily accessible by foot right now.

We settle for the top of the hill in stead, on a bench not far from the road, the golden glow from the streetlights pouring over it. We put on warm coats and scarves and mittens when we left, but not boots for off-road walking, and I don’t want to spend the next 15 minutes feeling the snow soaking slowly through my jeans.

I take Even’s hand in both mine and rest my head on his shoulder. For a minute we just sit quiet, just enjoying the view, the golden shine over the city, a burning haze in the cold evening, the downtown lights reflecting in the fog lying like a cover over the city centre. I take off my mitten and pull off Even’s as well, I’d like to feel his skin against mine despite the cold.

I trace his fingers with my finger tips, the calluses inside his palm, his joints, his tendons, his rounded fingertips, his smooth nails. I think about what these hands have done, where they have been, the art they have made, the pleasure, the joy. No pain, because the pain isn’t in his hands, not even when he has tried to push me away. I lift them towards my lips and kiss his fingers, one by one, looking up at him across our joined hands. He is filling me with so much joy, this man, fills my heart and mind and all of me with all of him.

Oh well. He is making me sappy. He sees that, too, he chuckles as he watches me, lifts his other hand towards my eye and dries a tear with his cold mitten. I shrug and say nothing, but my lips curl into a little smile, one that I wanted to hide because he will tease me, but I can’t so I will just brace myself.

Instead he bends down to kiss me. A tender, soft kiss, silent as the hill around us, just our breaths are audible, and only just.

I nudge my nose against his. “Hey, I love you,” I whisper, I don’t know why I don’t say it louder, because it’s not something I want to hide, it feels like something I could yell all over right now.

He puts his arms around me and pulls me closer, as if he wants me to warm him from the inside, and I extend myself a bit, trying my best to be his personal heater right now. It’s a position I love to hold.

Suddenly the ceiling blows up in colours. It’s like the green and violet shades come out of nowhere, promptly filling the entire horizon above the city. We sit there amazed by the view, it’s not often we see northern lights like this here, this far south, and definitely not all above us like now.

“Are you ready for more northern light?” I ask against his cold coat.  
I can feel him smile behind my head. “I thought you were gonna make me see stars?” he says.  
“Silly,” I laugh, nudging him with my elbow. “Of course I will make you see stars. Just not here, I think.”  
“Not here?” he pouts, pretending to be zipping his pants.  
“Well, sure, if you want to. I will keep you warm.”  
“Let’s do it when we get home.”  
“Ohhh. You’ve grown up.”  
“Because I don’t want you to suck my dick in public in the view of at least five houses where our kids’ school mates grew up?”

I chuckle again. Using out common common sense may be wise sometimes.

“I wonder where the boys are,” he asks.  
“They are in the forest.”  
“Ah, of course. Getting their feet cold.”  
“Hopefully they have enough common sense to not make themselves all cold and wet. There is a lot of snow there.”  
“Fredrik is our son. How would you rate him on a common sense-scale?”  
“Uhm… Is biology or environment the stronger influence, again?”  
“Biology,” I laugh.  
“Then… A six?”  
“Six? On a one to six scale, I presume?”  
“Ten.”  
“Bah humbug,” I laugh. “Then it’s a nine. He is like me.”  
“So a six then.”  
“Ten.”  
“Six.”  
“Moron.”  
“Idiot.” He is shaking behind my back while holding me tight around my chest and upper arms.  
“At least biology is stronger than environment,” I counter. “If not he wouldn’t even reach the upper half in common sense. You have none, honey.”  
“What!”  
“Nah.”

I am about to say something about things he has done. Art projects covering all our street. Over-ambitious Christmas dinners. Painting our very sturdy family-SUV with flames. Signing up for street dancing classes on a dare, just to prove a point, and forcing Fredrik to learn to knit, in revenge. And of course the fact that he still has highlights streaked through his hair in a futile attempt at not looking ‘old’.

But then we’re interrupted by sounds, laughter, words in a foreign language. It sounds a bit like German, but the sounds are sharper. It’s two men, our own age or a few years younger, nudging and laughing at each other. I inadvertently smile at the sight of them, they are clearly in their own bubble. They are pulling a sledge, a black and green snowracer, not really meant for two.

They stop when they see us, the darker one looking slightly startled. He nods towards us. “Good evening,” he says. The other one chuckles behind him, poking his arm so he nearly slips and falls. “Don’t fall for me,” he laughs.  
The first one shakes his head and smiles. “I won’t fall. This is snow, it’s not even slippery,” he says, a second before he falls and is grabbed by the other.  
“He pushed you,” Even chuckles.  
“No, I didn’t,” he protests, pouting at the other one.  
“Even should know,” I say. “He does the same all the time.”

The dark one smiles at us again. “I am Robert IJzermans, by the way. Aren’t you the one living in the white house, with the rainbow disco show outside?” He looks at Even.  
Even nods and scrunches his forehead. “You are the Dutch ones? Red car? Was outside while I was shoveling snow yesterday?”  
Robert nods. “Yes. but we are Flemish, from Antwerp. Belgium. Different country. Ehhr...This is my husband Sander. I am going to be a visiting researcher at the University this spring, we have rented a house here.”

The bits are connecting now. The Brekke family have gone to the States for a sabbatical next year, and they mentioned letting the house to a Dutch family. Who are….Belgian. “Ijzermans, you say,” I say, trying to get the strange sounds right. “Superconductors, right?”  
His face lightens up in surprise. “Yes. You too?”  
“Astro physics. But we’re in the same building. Welcome.” I give him my hand and say my name. His grip is firm and his smile genuine.  
“Wow, how cool is that,” he laughs.  
“Are you staying here for Christmas?” Even asks.  
“Yes, we decided to come here once the school term was over. Sander here is an art teacher in high school, so we left once his kids had run out on the last day.”  
“So you’re alone here?” Even continues. I see where he is going. He is the one who never lets anyone be alone, the one to bring home all stray dogs and kids and birds.  
Sander rolls his eyes. “Jeeez, no. We brought my sister and her four kids, and my parents and Robbe’s mum. So this is basically our alone time for today.”

“Sounds like our madhouse,” I laugh and hug Even’s hand.  
“Yes, you seemed to have quite a bunch, too,” Robert asks. “All yours?”  
“God, no!” I shivers. “Only two of them. Maria and Fredrik, they are 27. Physics majors both of them, Maria is teaching while Fredrik finished a Ph.D in Particle Physics recently. The rest are a German family we know.”  
“No physicists there?” Robert laughs.  
“Nope. Teacher and Doctor and some kind of behavioural nurse. The girls are still whimsing around.”  
“Still hope, then.”  
“Yup.”  
“And you?” Robert says to Even. “Science as well?”  
“Nah. Film production. My name is Even Bech Nærheim by the way. Documentaries and series, I am working for the national broadcasting now.” I can’t see if he is proud or if he feels inferior about telling them.  
“Wow, film!” Sander beams at him. “That’s so cool. I draw myself, I have tried to make some animated movies, but it takes so long. I don’t have patience for it.”  
“It’s time consuming, absolutely,” Even says. It’s not his virtue either. He has made some short animated sequences, but live pictures are what he excels in. It’s kind of creating a painting with moods and light and shadows over a picture, I never cease being impressed by what he can make.

The cold is seeping through my shoes. My toes are starting to feel cool and I know I will be ice cold within minutes unless I start moving soon. One of the drawbacks of getting older, I guess, when I was young I could live in the same pair of sneakers all year and just add an extra hoodie during winter. Now it’s knitted socks and long johns and mittens and thick coats all the time, and even that is barely enough.

“I think we gotta go,” I say to Even. He glances at my face and nods.  
“But it would be cool to hang out some time,” he says to Sander and Robert. “Maybe you wanna come over one of the days, we could have lunch or supper or something,” he suggests. They both nod, we all agree it would be nice, and none of us have any idea whether it will actually happen or not. It’s kind of a perk of the seasons, these uncommitting promises about social pleasantries that nobody gets offended if you skip. Right now Christmas with the Florenzi-Schreibner’s seems enough, to be honest, but maybe some fresh blood into the clan would be nice later. And anyway I guess we’ll meet again later, when the guests have left and the study term has started.

As we walk home again, Even asks me again about how Fredrik is.  
“I think he is better now. I was in doubt for a while, but I think pushing him into getting home was a good idea. He’s a bit like you, you know. Needs someone to steer him,” I nudge.  
“Looks who is speaking,” he smiles.  
“No, but I think Andreas is good for him,” I say with a serious face. “He needs someone to be with, and for. He is not made to be alone, he doesn’t cope well when he doesn’t have someone around to earth him, or to make him fly or swim. Then he will just fall and fall, without any opposite forces exerted on him.”

“You don’t think it’s too much for him? Too much responsibility, too much to handle?”  
“Too much? Andreas is a pretty well-functioning young man. It’s not like Fredrik needs to watch over him?”  
“No, not that,” he says. “But I don’t think Andreas can stand it if they break up again.”  
“Funny, that’s what Matteo said, too.”  
“I guess we all know them well,” he mutters.  
“Then you should know Fredrik well enough to know that when he jumps into something, he will finish, too.”  
“He quit Medicine,” he reminds me.  
“Well, he was young then. And ambitious. Best grades from school, thought he should use them for the hardest studies, too. And pathology is really icky,” I shrug, thinking about brains and blood and gore. “Once he got settled into Physics, he finished.”  
“Even if it wasn’t the right choice?”  
“I think it was always the right choice,” I protest. “Just not the right people around him, he didn’t get the encouragement he needed. Or not from the right people, at least.”

“What do you think he will do now?” Even asks.  
“Honestly? I think he will go to Andreas and stay with him, not caring about whether he has a job or a proper place to live, as long as he has Andreas.”  
“So David and Matteo will get two for the price of one, then?”  
I chuckle. I honestly can’t imagine Fredrik staying permanently in their flat. He loves his privacy too much, and having them around 24/7 will make him twitchy. We have tried.

The stroll back home is cosy. The white snow is covering everything, and there are strings of lights everywhere, beautiful wreaths, Christmas trees on the inside, a calm mood lying everywhere, it’s like the holidays are already here.

I suddenly stop in my tracks and look at Even. “Hey, that Christmas ornament…”  
Even giggles hysterically, as if he doesn’t need a second to get into what I am asking about. “Yes?”  
“Was that..?”  
“Was that what?”  
“Was it the vibrator we bought in Copenhagen this summer?”  
He chuckles again. “Yes. With the crap battery we couldn’t swap.”  
“So you… made it into an ornament?”  
“Yup. I painted it green and dipped it in glitter. Like a Christmas workshop.”  
“Alone, I kind of hope?”

I blush at the thought of Even making this when we had the in-promptu ‘’Let’s make stuff!’ workshop this afternoon, spontanously wanting to create some more crafts for the tree as we put it up. Matteo silently hated it, too stuck in his quest for perfection, cutting out perfect paper stars. Mine were all wonky, crafting was never my thing. Even when the kids were small, I shied away from anything to do with playdough and craft days at nursery and the dreaded dress-up costumes for hyped up events. Even and the girls loved it. David was giggling in the background, declaring himself the master of hanging our pathetic attempts at ornaments on the now freaky looking tree.

I remember the crafting party we had at the Christmas party in Kollektivet our first Christmas together, Eskild was head of it and of course the girls loved it, they always loved everything Eskild did. We had some daring ornaments on the tree that year.

“No, we did it at work.”  
“Seriously?”  
“No!”  
“I don’t know how you creative people have Christmas workshops,” I say.  
“You don’t want to know,” he laughs. “I could have made it more creative, had I had more time.”  
“You’re creative enough for both of us,” I laugh.

When we get home again, it’s silent and clean there. The dinner table is set for tomorrow, ten seats, my mum is also coming, white plates, crystal glasses, silverware, just like always, and napkins on each plate, not a complicated fold, just rolled and decorated with festive ribbons. The Christmas tree is sparkling in front of the big windows, in the fireplace there is a warm, orange afterglow. I think I hear the low sounds of calm Christmas carols coming from somewhere in the house, although I am not sure where and I can’t hear the text nor the tune.

Even comes into the kitchen after me. “The basement is empty,” he smiles. “The bed is deflated and folded, and the duvet is packet away. Looks like we no longer have a guest downstairs.”  
“Just as well,” I smile. “Let’s not check whether we have the guest somewhere else, shall we?”  
He sits down on the sofa and smiles at me. “Come’ere,” he says, patting the pillow next to him. A pot filled with golden liquid with floating slices of oranges and whole spices are sitting on the table, heated over a candle. We pour some into the clean cups next to it and warm our hands on them. The drink is warm and strong, a whiff of warm wine mixed with apples and citrus.

I relax into him, resting my head on his shoulder. My eyes slide shut, the heat from him, his breath, the relaxing movements of his fingers on my shoulder, his hair tickling my neck. My man.  
And we both lean into each other, and all is well.

( _artwork by @kkhymmmm on instagram)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All is well, we hope! Both in the Evak-Davenzi-Christmas House, over at Casa Brekke-soon-to-be-Ijzermans-Driesen's, and in all and every home of our readers! 
> 
> Luckily Christmas is about love and family time and food requiring three hours' cooking time, so we have no problem at all getting some writing time without sacrificing... anything. Nope, not at all. Oh well, they got presents. They can go read a book or build Lego or something. (Or have a look at their screens. No, we're of course restricting that a lot! Haha!)


	41. That Epilogue Christmassy thingy part 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut? Did someone say smut? Nah. Didn't think so. So here is some......smut. 
> 
> Thank you for all your comments, love, jodels and cheering. We love this. A lot.

##  ANDREAS

I’ve looked at him. Watched him. Drunk him in with my eyes, over and over again, but it has always felt rushed. Like if I would look away, just for a second, it would be all over. 

The truth is, I’m terrified of losing him again, this man in my arms. His head heavy on my chest, his arm curled around my neck, and his breathing soft and warm against my skin. My Freddie. 

Thinking back, I think I was always fascinated with him, probably from the first time I saw him. He had this air of cool around him, a confidence I envied from a bloody child, younger than myself, because at 15 I had considered myself a grown up. I had been kissed, and messed around with girls. Felt a boob through a bra. Let my fingers play with the hem of someone’s knickers. Her name was Leona and she was very cute, but, yeah. I can admit it to myself now. She wasn’t Freddie. 

Nobody is like him, with the little kink of his nose, his eyebrows and impossible eyelashes. The sharp line of his jaw and his stubbled skin. His lips that just beg to be kissed. 

And talk about making someone feel inadequate. I have licked the lines of his stomach, and there is definitely a six pack there. Firm defined arms, and pecs to die for. He’s gorgeous. Fit. Beautiful. Mine.

I might be a fool here, and my Vati is absolutely right. I need to own this. Carry him. Let him in so he can carry me too. He uses all these posh emotional words to describe it, but however much Vati might be right, I know what I need. And I think I know what he needs too. 

“I love you,” I whisper into his hair. He needs to hear it. I need to say it. Over and over as I kiss his hair, the long strands that he so effortlessly bundles into a man bun. Mine is short and straggly, my fringe once again covering my eyes. I had it cut before Christmas, but it grows like out of control weeds, ruining any attempt of looking civilized within days. 

The first time I kissed him, now many many years ago, well. It wasn’t magic or butterflies or stars and sparkling rainbows. It was two stupid kids in a tent on a warm summers night. Love drunk on silliness and laughter.

It was a kiss. Lips against lips, muffled giggles and cheeks flushed with embarrassment. His fingers fisting my t-shirt over my heart, my own hand lying limp on his hip. 

We had laughed, and I had fully expected him to roll away from me, ending what had been a stupid idea in the first place. But he hadn’t. Instead he grabbed my hand and held on as he launched that mouth of his over mine. Tasted me, and licked me and crawled on top of me with all the gusto of a perma horny 14-year-old. He didn’t know what he was doing, but his enthusiasm was contagious, and I think my brain just lost the plot. I lost the plot. We both lost some clothes, the mosquitoes buzzing around at the top of the tent suddenly having a feast of skin at their mercy. We hadn’t noticed. Nothing had mattered but the two of us, our lips, our hands. 

We couldn't look at each other afterwards. I had turned over, pretending to go to sleep. He had giggled and kicked me with his cold feet and crawled into the sleeping bag with me, stretching it until the seems felt like they were going to burst. 

My chest jumps with held back laughter just thinking about it. The two of us. Stupid children playing at being all grown up.

Then I hurt him. Over and over again. This kid that idolized me and hung onto my every word. This kid that wouldn’t stop telling me that he loved me. This kid that would hold me and make the world around us disappear.

He confused me for years. Made me doubt everything. I was not gay. I was not like my fathers. I was not confused. I was me, and I was perfectly normal. 

Bullshit. 

I know that now. I have no idea how genetics work, or if conditioning is a thing, and to be honest it is all just fucking ridiculous. I fell in love with this boy with his golden locks and little dimples and that was it. Nobody ever lived up to my stupid ideals, ever again. However beautiful and pretty and smooth other people would be, talking to me and tricking my stupid ego into thinking I had found someone, someone that could make me feel better about myself? All they needed to do was kiss me and my head would nosedive into the gutter. They weren’t him. They didn’t taste right, didn’t move right and they never smelt anywhere as good as the man in my arms. I sniff him, of course I do. Bury my face in his curls and wiggle my nose around. 

“Too early,” he whispers and curls into me tighter. Then he rolls over and lets me spoon him again. My nose in his neck, my lips on his skin. My cock jerking as my hips settle against his arse. 

I always let him fuck me. He took my virginity, and I took his an hour later. Then I let him do me again, loving the feel of him inside of me. Yes, of course it fucking hurt, but I loved the sounds he would make. The strength of him holding me down. The way he lost control, just before he would explode into the condom, his chest flushed red and his cheeks glowing and his face a mix of ecstasy and pure embarrassment. He was funny. He made me laugh. He made me feel like I was the king of the world. 

So, I would let him fuck me. Again and again. Sometimes he would ask, and sometimes I would indulge him in a little bit of bottoming, but I was, I am, always happiest, when he is inside me. I said it before, he grounds me, and fuck, there is nowhere I feel more grounded than when he is fucking the living daylights out of me and his cock swells and….

“I want to fuck you, baby,” I whisper into his neck. 

“You can do whatever you want to me,” he whispers back. 

Which of course brings tears to my over emotional twatfeatures eyeballs. Fucking hell. I’m turning into my Dads. You tell either of them that you love them and they go all emo, tears and hugs and shit all over the place. 

Instead I reach over and say a silent prayer of thanks to Even, God of preparations and purchaser of the finest lube sachets this side of the Fjord. And condoms. Big ones. Because neither of us are under-equipped in the cock department, and how on earth he knows this is a mystery to me. Well. I suppose not. Lilly did draw a sizing chart once. 

I coat my fingers in lube, throwing the wrapper over my shoulder as I position myself under the duvet, keeping him on his side facing away from me, his knees already curled up just waiting, his body trembling in anticipation. He has the most stunning backside. A firm rounded butt. The tightest little hole in the world. Well, what do I know, I have only ever been inside this one, because none of the others the world has offered up to me would have compared. 

I stroke my fingers around his opening, coating his skin in silky fluid before working my middle finger inside of him. I have never quite figured out if I am doing this right, always too ashamed to try to google it. Freddie did. He researched and watched instructional videos whilst I squirmed and hid behind a pillow. He can have me loose and begging for him within minutes. I need a while to get Freddie in the mood. Get him relaxed enough so I can let a second finger join the first. Lots of kissing. A bit of dirty talk, because he secretly loves it. 

“Did you miss my cock?” I start. Lame. I know, but it makes him giggle. 

“Fuck you,” he whispers. 

“Come on, baby. Be a good boy, open up your hole for my fingers,” I rasp out, hoping to sound like some fucked up porno-daddy. 

I have never watched any gay pornos with a big hairy daddy-dude fucking their twinkly looking boy, who is probably some 36-year-old estate agent in real life, doing a bit of gay-for-pay. I have not. Ever. 

He makes some kind of gurgling noise against the wall, which I take as a good sign. 

“Come on, just relax, and let me get inside that tight hole. Gonna make you beg for my cock, babe. Because you want it don’t you? My big fat cock instead of my fingers, would that be good? My big fat cock splitting…”

“Fucking hell, Andreas.” He rolls over and his hand drags my neck down so he can kiss me, my fingers sliding out of him, and I end up being manhandled until I am flat against the bedroom wall with his rock hard cock poking me in the stomach.

“You watch too much damn porn,” he mutters into my mouth. “Now does Daddy have to show you how to do this properly?”

  
“Not my Daddy,” I burst out, trying to keep my voice stern when all I want to do is burst into laughter.

“I’ll show you who’s the Daddy,” he says and puts his mouth back on mine. It’s filthy, the kiss he dishes out at me. All slow licks and little sighs and grunts and his cock sliding against my stomach as he goes all cave-man on me again. Because now I am flat on my back and he’s straddling my stomach and my fingers are finally back against his hole and he is kind of jerking himself off in my face and yup. It’s bloody hot. Hot enough that my cock is probably leaking and I need him to kiss me again. 

“Kiss…” I slur. 

“Open your mouth,” he hisses at me, his knees by my armpits, moving closer and then leaning over so the tip of his cock paints my lips with wetness. 

I kiss his foreskin. Because whilst he can be the Daddy, all he wants, I can tease. I know what makes him tick. I wrap my arms around him and my fingers tease his hole again. Just one finger. Pressing gently.

“Open your goddamn mouth and suck my dick.” He rolls his hips again, letting me get a second finger inside of him. I can go deeper like this with his cock sinking into my mouth. 

“Good boy,” his filthy mouth says. “Suck me. That’s it, take it deep baby. All the way back.” 

I gag a little. Yup. I haven’t done this for years. Since. Since forever. 

“Just relax babe, let me all the way in. Yeah. That’s it.”

Fuck, he’s dirty. My eyes watering at the intrusion, his cock making me cough, and splutter as he pulls out and looks down at me.

“Look at me,” he whispers. 

I nod, swallowing excess spit as I scissor my fingers hard inside of him, making him gasp for breath and his body shivers above me. 

“Again?” I tease, my voice a little raspy. I don’t even have to put it on. 

“Fuck.” He groans as I press a third finger against his opening. He can take it. I know he can. 

“Are you going to be good?” I groan. “Fucking my throat like that.” 

“You love it.” He hisses, and fills my mouth again. His cock sliding home as I greedily take him. Trying to suck and relax as my body spasms with my gag reflex is going off like crazy. My body moving underneath him, my cock leaking liquid that I can feel drip against my stomach. My fingers fucking his arse as hard as I can muster as my feet kick the bedposts and my head starts to swim. I’m going to come if he keeps this up. He always could. Make me all embarrassed and horny and ridiculous, coming well before I was supposed to. 

“Need to fuck you now,” I rasp out as he pulls his dick out of my mouth, walking backwards on his knees until I can feel the his hole against the tip of my cock. 

“Condom,” I whisper. 

“Don’t want to,” he whispers back, his eyes staring me down. “It’s only ever going to be you, and I was tested a few weeks back.”

“What?” my stupid mouth says. “You want… I mean. No condoms?”

“No condoms, Andreas.” He bends down and kisses my lips. “It’s only been a few days, but I mean it. I can’t do casual with you. I am serious about this, one hundred percent. It’s you and me now, all the time, forever. Can you deal with that?”

“I can deal with that,” I whisper, and my traitorous eyes are welling up again. “I love you. Fucking hell, I love you so much it hurts.”

“I know.” He whispers and sinks his arse down over the tip of my cock. 

It’s weird. Warm. Tight and frightening and wonderful all wrapped up into one as I squeeze my eyes shut and my mouth is doing some kind of _Ohhhh!_ thing and I can smell him, the distinct scent of sex and sweat and arousal and body fluids and oh fuck. Oh fuckety fuckety fuck. 

“Oh yeah.” He moans as he takes the last of me inside of his body and his arse comes to a rest against my balls. “Oh hell. Oh fucking fuck. “ 

“What?” I giggle, because he’s. He’s just something. 

“You feel amazing. Warm. I love it, so much better than with all that latex.”

I don’t know how he can still speak in perfect sentences, when I can barely get my brain into gear. The sensations overwhelming me as he starts to move, just small movements. Up and down. Cold air hitting my cock then warm wet heat, and friction. Delicious friction as every part of my body is covered in goosebumps and my cheeks heat up and my brain is full of static and my mouth is making sounds again. 

“Just come,” he says. “Don’t hold back, just do it. Fill me up. I want you to come inside of me, all of it. The full load.” 

“If you talk dirty to me like that you will….” I don’t get more words out before I am shooting. All of my load. And most of my brain it seems, as my hips manage to arch off the bed with him still riding me and his hands are suddenly around my face and his lips are back on mine and his cock is jerking between our bodies as he kisses me and ruts against me in some kind of desperate dance of need. My softening cock already sliding out of him.

“Take it. Take what you need,” I whisper into his neck as he moans out loud. 

“Need inside of you,” he replies and my hand is already reaching for the lube. 

He grabs it off me, leaning on his elbows at first, then rising up to expose his gorgeous self to me. He’s all flushed and his hair is damp by his temples. His nipples tight buds of brown, and his chest rising and falling like he has been running. 

“Don’t prep me, just go for it,” I hiss. Because. Well. I need it. Want it. I want to feel him. Want to feel everything. 

  
“Don’t want to hurt you,” he mutters under his breath, as his hand covers his length in lube.

“You won’t. You would never hurt me,” I say and lift my knees up to my chest. 

He still does. Preps me, just the bare minimum until I am shouting for him to fuck me of I will die with the need for him to fuck me, and he is laughing and complaining that he’s got my come running down his leg, and I threaten him with years of washing sheets every day now because no condoms is a messy business, I know because my Papi told me all the facts of life when I was 15 and he had to wash my soiled sheets… again. I blamed it on Freddie. He probably blamed it on me, because Papi spoke to him too. Man to Man. 

He kisses me and tells me he loves me. I tell him I love him back. Over and over again. 

He says he doesn’t believe me. I shout it to the roof tops. Then there is banging on the ceiling from above, and the Christmas carols are turned up to some new ridiculous volume and I can’t stop smiling. 

I love him. And I want the world to know. 

Despite one of the girls shouting ‘’shut the fuck up and stop shagging” from the hallway. 

It doesn’t matter. I still love him. 

  
  



	42. That Epilogue Christmassy thingy part 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas Eve, and everyone are happy!
> 
> (For trigger warning, see end notes.)

****

**EVEN**

Christmas Eve has been nice so far. I woke up close to Isak, our feet tangled and his arm slung across me. His crotch was almost glued to my ass, nothing between us. He fits so well there, his dick into my cleft, my own dick growing as I thought about the fit. 

Then the magic was lost when I realized I really, really had to pee, and my head was throbbing so I needed water and perhaps some pain killers. I have grown weak in my old days. Isak and I  _ may _ have drunk all the remaining gluhwein yesterday, and the jug  _ may _ have been a bit bigger than I realized. We  _ may _ have been a bit unsteady as we went to bed yesterday. 

Luckily we’re sleeping on the ground floor, not far from the living room. Sometimes it’s not quite a perk, like when three young ladies are coming home at 4 in the morning, high on dancing and kebab and too much booze and bumps into all the kitchen interiors on their quest for more food to fix the sugar cravings. But sometimes universal design is fine, like when you only have to walk a few metres to your bedroom door and the bathroom is on the way and everything is clean and tidy and well known and there is nothing to stumble upon on the way. 

I wonder if we tidied up after us, or if the gluhwein leftovers are still oozing their sweet, alcoholic smell on the table. I am pretty sure the pillows are straight, though. I have a vivid memory of a giggling Isak insisting on fluffing every pillow in our corner sofa to perfection before going to bed, despite me trying my very best to pull him with me. Sometimes he is very cute, my Isak. Well, most of the time, actually, but sometimes particularly so.

Not even my promise about a blow job if he would just come with me  _ now  _ could stop him from continuing the fluff job, but he still required one when we got to bed. He threatened to pinch my ribs during his sleep if I didn’t blow him, so in the end I obeyed. 

The end came fast, though. I was an easy target when he grinded against me and I shivered when I felt the wet spots on my hip get cold in the raw bedroom air. I rolled him over and started touching him. We were sleepy, so no elegancy there, we just wanted some advanced cuddling. 

I wanted to taste him, his warm dick, the velvety soft skin along the hard shaft, his shivers when I drew my tongue back and forth under the head, when I swallowed him as far back as I could, played with his balls in my palm, a finger, then his movements got faster and heavier against my mouth and I was reminded about the very first time I did this, that November day so many years ago, I remember his eyes on mine, a flash of fear, excitement, relief, pure joy.

I looked up at his face as he came. He was laying back against the pillows, his eyes were shut and he pushed the back of his head into the pillow while trying to hold on to something, the sheets, his hair, his nipples, my hair, trying not to push too hard at my head, then his hips were pushed off the mattress as he came. He shot at my throat with his entire body and suddenly he opened his eyes and looked at me, a dark deep that always pulls me in wherever I am and in whatever state I am. Always there, always mine.

“Did you make coffee?” I barely heard the words from under the duvet when I got back to the room. The air had a whiff of musk and sweat and alcohol, memories hanging in the air.

“No, but I brought water and pain killers.”

“I am not a whimp. I want coffee,” he complained.

I chuckled and returned to the kitchen to make us coffee. I left the water and the Paracetamol, though, and they are gone when I got back a few minutes later. I used Isak’s Italian espresso beans in our double Jura, the light brown crema is perfect on top of the black liquid. 

“Thank you.” The relief was obvious in his face when he got his cup. He needs his coffee, my Isak. As do I, for the record, we are completely compatible there. I just love to see the happiness he can’t hide when he gets his shots.

I crawled into bed again to enjoy my own cup. He was warm and soft, and the sounds he made behind me made me want to grind into him. Or take him straight to the shower, although I heard sounds and steps in the other rooms meaning we’d hardly be alone when we exited the bathroom together.

“Ready for Christmas?” he asked.

I nodded. I was as ready as I could be. Food ready. Recipes ready. Table set, dishes planned. I even had a time schedule, although we all knew it will fail and we’ll have dinner any time between 16:30 and 18. 

“How are you today?” His voice was a low hum against my skin and his arm slung around my chest, as if it was ready to hold me no matter what. I know he is, always.

I had to ponder a bit to get to the right answer today. I have felt ok recently, not euphoric and high, despite my baking frenzies and projects in bits and pieces all over the place. And I have been exhausted, but not in a bad way, more as a result of a busy couple of weeks at work so I could take Christmas off, and as a result of being active, of using my brain and hands. 

“I am fine,” I said. 

“It’s not too much?” he asks.

“No. No, I think it’s ok.”

“Don’t overdo yourself,” he begged. “You know, we are like nine grown ups here now. You don’t have to do everything.”

I chuckled. “I know. But I like to cook.”   
“I know,” he says. “And I like it when you cook. You are sexy in your apron.” I heard his smile against my nape.

“Hush, or I’ll smack you with the spatula,” I laughed.

“How come you thought that would make me be quiet?”

“Right, bad move. Hush, or I won’t smack you, then.”

“Now we’re talking.” 

His arms were warm as they rolled me over against his chest.

So as usual I cooked for us. Isak has done the shopping, but none of us trust him doing the cooking. Matteo helped me, though, he chopped and sauteed and watched and asked curious questions that made me search on the internet and almost forget the sugar in the pan we were making caramel sauce with. We probably have some store bought sauce in the cupboard, but we just managed to save it. 

I made pork ribs as usual, and a wrapped nut roast, as well as all the side dishes - boiled and baked potatoes, steamed carrots and brussel sprouts, the heavy sauce made from the fat and juices from the ribs, lingonberry jam from berries we picked this autumn, some jellies from the christmas market, my own dark apple butter, sauerkraut made by Matteo.

We left the house for a couple of hours in the early afternoon, while the ribs were roasting, to visit the family graves. Matteo stayed at home to watch the food, David came with us. He likes to visit our graves, it makes him kind of feel at home. Lilly and Lottie hangs around with Maria, Fredrik and Andreas hang on eachother, and Even and I carried candles and lighters and wreaths and spades so we could dig away the snow that had piled against the old stones.

The church yard was beautiful, covered in clean snow, a light drizzle of white falling, shiny golden under the lamps. At almost all the gravestones candles were lit, dots of light in the darkness. It reminds me that in order to see light, we need the darkness, too.

Afterwards Isak drove to pick up Marianne, while I got a lift with David and the girls. Andreas and Fredrik wanted to walk home. It’s a few kilometres, but they claimed they needed to move and wanted some fresh air. I guess the latter is right, although I wouldn’t complain about not getting enough exercise if I were them.

****

We had dinner at 17:30 this year. Half an hour “too late”, according to some tradition, but according to our tradition it was well within limits. And nobody was complaining. They watched Christmas carols while they waited, or at least most did. Andreas and Fredrik reappeared after two rounds of being called to the table, with their ties askew and tousled hair. Everyone was happy with the food, tender ribs with crispy rind, and the nut roast was perfectly moist. We were stuffed afterwards, and had plenty of leftovers for the Christmas Day lunch. Exactly as it should be.

The living room was decorated as it usually is - a mix of decorations, no theme, no plan. I love red Amaryllis, so we have plenty of them, some spruce on the table, stuff the kids have made, things we have bought, angels from Isak's mum, some strange pink creation from Eskild, and candles, loads of candles throwing a warm mood over the room - and warming the room in general.

The sound of Christmas carols in the background when I finished dinner made me think of the song I heard the evening before. The boy’s choir are performing another version that the mezzo soprano who sang it there. I remembered the story I couldn’t quite grasp yesterday, about him performing as a woman before, and I was so immensely happy nobody else noticed. Not because they shouldn’t or couldn’t notice, because of course they could, but it was just not the case here. Nobody mentioned it, he was there to perform his Ave Maria, an artist on TV, he was not one of the guests with a history. And that made me happy.

After dinner we had coffee and biscuits and kransekake and desserts, cream with cloudberries and krumkake, and rice a la mande with cherry sauce. Matteo always brings both Panettone and Stollen, both made from family recipes, filled with his own delicious candied citrus peel instead of the chemically tasting store-bought one.

And there were gifts, loads of them, most of them kind of useful even for wealthy gay double income couples with grown-up kids. Sweaters, shirts, socks, kind of dull, but especially Isak and Matteo seem to appreciate the efforts to dress them even for the next year, I think. And there were drinks, wine and sweet liquors and whisky and more wine. And coffee, of course, bags of locally roasted beans, new gadgets. I had gotten a new travel aeropress for Isak, and he looked kind of perplexed as he opened it, before handing me my gift - of course one for me, too, apparently we are both good at gifts.

Now the house is calm and quiet. We have cleaned up after dinner, all left-overs boxed and cooled, we’re having some for lunch tomorrow and some will just disappear, that’s what happens with independent kids in the house, they help themselves, to say it the least.

Matteo and David have gone outside for a walk, I suppose it was their turn to feel a bit locked inside here now. It happens to all of us over the holidays, too many people in too little space. But we cope, we know we can just take a time-out, no questions asked. 

I am sitting in the couch sipping my cup of coffee along with a small glass of cognac I got from Fredrik and Maria, I guess he got it in the duty free store and then got Maria to go halves with him as he had already had our Christmas gifts mailed here. 

Isak is driving Marianne home, he may be out for an hour or two, he usually walks her inside and sits down to talk a bit before heading home again. The girls are in Maria’s room, probably some gossip they didn’t finish, or maybe they are planning what vibrant parties to attend over the next few days. I guess they will stay out until the wee morning hours and sleep until dinner for the rest of the holidays, and it’s ok. They are growing up. David and Matteo probably freak out a bit more, Lilly and Lottie are still their babies. Maybe I am expected to think the same about Maria and Fredrik, too, but honestly, they grew up years ago and I am kind of glad they are leaving the nest for real. 

I can’t stop the smile that splits my face when I think about it. Life is good, I am happy, surrounded by happy people. I trust myself now, trust that I do good, that I can love, that I am loved. I love Isak, he loves me. We may have our quirks and bad moments, but we’re working it out, and in the end I think we have managed quite well.

I am startled by a creak in the floorboards, they should be fixed, I think, tightened or whatever one can do with creaky boards. I hear light steps across the floor and turn around.

“Hi Fredrik. I thought you were… ehr, is there anything I can do for you? Are you lacking anything?” I am on my way up to get whatever he needs.

“No, dad, everything is fine. I, eh...” He is biting his lower lip and swallows as if he is nervous. He is looking down at the couch. “Can I sit?”

“Sure, son, what’s up?” I feel a lump growing in my stomach. A million thoughts rush through my mind.

He doesn’t say anything. I watch him as he bends forward to fill his glass with cognac. His hand is trembling slightly and the bottle clunks loudly against the rim of the glass as he pours the brown liquid.

I look at him. He is obviously upset, but I can’t read to what degree, if he is distraught or just nervous about something. It kind of fills me with sorrow that we’ve become that distant that I can no longer read my son, although it’s no wonder with the physical distance we’ve had over the past years.

He drinks a large gulp from the glass, and I lift my eyebrows questioning. I put my hand on his. “Fredrik, what’s wrong.”

He looks at my hand on top of his. His eyes seem fixated on my fingers. Out hands are like frozen on eachother, although I feel his shiver under mine. 

“Is it Andreas? Where is he?”

He shakes his head. “No, no, it’s not him. He is in my room. He’s fine. We’re fine.”

Fredrik draws his breath and lifts his gaze at me. His green eyes are dark, the pupil seem to be filling all of the iris, hiding the rainbow and glitter in them, he has seemed so happy recently, happy and horny and careless, as if all worries are lifted off his shoulders. Now the darkness seems to be back in his eyes again. 

Suddenly the room seems darker, the shadows creeping closer and the few candles still burning feeling weaker.

He braces himself before starting to talk. “Daddy, you know when I was younger and you and Isak explained to me and Maria that you were sick and that your brain hurt, and later told us that the illness was called bipolar?” He looks at me. 

I nod. We always tried to be honest with the kids, be it about how they were created and born, or about my illness. Life had taught us that such things were not to be hidden, they could never stay hidden in the long run, and hiding meant shame, and if there was one thing we wanted to instil in our kids, it was that having a mental illness was no shame.

I open my mouth to say something. Something about shame and pride and that I hope he will never be afraid to tell me he or one he loves is sick. 

He holds up his hand to stop me. “Wait, dad, let me talk or I will never say it.”

He breathes deep a couple of times. His face suddenly seems white and his lips dry and chapped, and he bites them before he continues to speak. “You said you had bipolar and that it meant that sometimes you would be very sad and very tired, and sometimes you would seem very happy and eager.” The words are flowing fast, and he looks down again. “I… I never asked you more, I thought this was ok, this was something we coped with daily already so nothing changed after you put a name on it. You were still dad and that was it.”

I feel a warm flash through my body, like hot waves rushing through it, from toes and fingertips through legs and arms to my heart. It warms me to hear that nothing changed. I remember this conversation, it was after a heavy episode. I don’t think the kids saw much of the mania, but they certainly lived through the depression afterwards, with a father staying in bed for weeks, missing their school performances and end of school picnics and planting an uncertainty about vacations that year. But we had managed to go on holiday as planned, I don’t remember where. I just remember we drove there by car, Isak drove all the way and I was dozing in the passenger seat, trying not to be too obvious about being totally exhausted. And then we had talked to them about the name of the illness, after advice from my therapist, she thought it was important to give them a name for it.

After that we had every intention about talking more about it, but time flew and the kids didn’t ask, not even when we asked them if they had questions, so we let it be, just filled in with more information as it was appropriate over the years.

“You know, I googled it after you told us,” he continues. “And the article said that the risk for suicide was 10 to 20 times higher than for other people.”

He is pale now. His voice is steady, but there is an edge to it that tells me he is on the verge of breaking. “After that I was afraid. I feared your depressions, any change in your moods, because I thought it could be a mania if you seemed happier or more agitated.” He looks into the distance. “And then the depression would follow, or something I thought was a depression, maybe you were just tired and wouldn’t get up, but I feared you were depressed. Then I started watching everything you did, to make sure you didn’t kill yourself. Sometimes I would fake being ill so I could stay at home with you, and I sometimes hated Isak for not caring enough about you to stay at home.”

I open my mouth to say something, but no sound comes out.

“It was like I could never relax, and I tried to ask Maria, but she just shrugged and never seemed to worry. I couldn’t even sleep all night when you were sick, I just wanted to sleep next to you so I could watch you, then maybe I could sleep, but Isak said you had to rest.”

I draw my breath with a sharp sound. I remember the nights when Fredrik had come in to lie next to me. Sometimes it was ok, sometimes I’d let him do it for an hour or half an hour in the afternoon, but at night I’d turn my back to him and try to push him off the bed, and if Isak was there I’d whisper good night to Fredrik and let Isak take him back to his bed.

I thought he was annoying, disturbing my rest and sleep. It never occured to me that he was afraid and wanted to watch me.

“And then I talked to Andreas, and I knew that Matteo was depressed, but Andreas was never afraid, he just looked at me in surprise when I told him about my fear, and said that he didn’t think his Papi would do that, so why worry.”

“And I really tried to think that you wouldn’t want to either, that we were too important to you, that you wanted to stay with us and didn’t want us to suffer through a suicide or a suicide attempt. But I had read about it, and I couldn’t forget about the despair and the feeling of being worthless and that our lives would be better without you, so I couldn’t rule out you doing it.”

Something shatters inside me. 

I thought we did right by telling them. I thought we did right by not pushing them to talk, by not forcing anything at them. And maybe we were right, but we still didn’t, as Fredrik, my Fredrik, the one closest to my soul, he suffered, he feared, he has been carrying this fear for half a lifetime. 

The shards are falling inside me, scratching my insides, it hurts, stings, burns, as if someone is cutting me, but it’s only myself, my soul, my mind, my heart, shattering into pieces, small pieces that will still cut me, slice me, kill me from the inside.

I feel the heat from him against my back, arms around me, his naked face against my neck, tears falling on my white shirt, making a wet spot on the shoulder. The sobs makes me shatter even more, I imagine him making these sounds at my death bed, in my funeral, at my grave, and everything shatters once again.

We sit there, on the sofa, my cold coffee in front of me, an almost empty cognac glass, my son around my neck, or is it the other way around, I inside my son, maybe he is the one stopping me from shattering now, but he is clearly not stopping it, but maybe it would have been worse, even worse, unbearable, without him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: mentions of suicide, fear of suicide. All this have roots in the past, no current events.
> 
> Sorry about this joyful end of your year, dear readers. See you next decade, next year, next day.
> 
> That aside, we wish you all a Happy New Year ❤❤❤


	43. That Epilogue Christmassy thingy part 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Day awkwardness.

##  ****

##  **FREDRIK**

It feels like I am tipping on an edge, not quite managing to balance, not sure on which side I will fall. But Andreas is there. I focus on that. His arms around me, his body, his smell, his mouth, his lips, his soothing voice.

I don’t know how I got back to him. I remember crushing my dad. My dad that I love, that I have always loved, always will love. My dad who loves me and who never wanted anything but the very best for me.

He just sat there, sobbing, silent sobs as if he tried to pull himself together pretending everything was fine, silent sobs into the Christmas night, all alone because I left him.

Andreas is holding me. I can just hope Isak is there to hold dad, to pick him up from the darkness again, once again, this time caused by me, the son that loves them.

Everything just feels empty now. My soul, my mind, my body. It feels enlightening to finally tell my dad about it. My inner soul knows I should have told him years ago. The grown up me knows I should have talked to someone when I was in school, my dads, one of them, my grandmother, not Marianne, but Siri, the school nurse. To any adult that could have told me that I was both right and wrong, and helped me manage my fears, helped me handle them when they grew overwhelming, when they threatened to eat me when I saw my dad suffer, when I dreaded picking up the phone when I got an unexpected call from Isak or my grandparents or an unknown number.

But I didn’t, and now I regret telling dad about it. I can’t imagine how he feels now, devastated, crushed, desperate, falling.

A soft knock on the door pulls me out of my spiralling thoughts. I feel Andreas move around me, feel him open his mouth as if to ward off whoever it is.

“Can I come in?” It’s Isak.

Andreas nods. His chin bumps uncomfortably against the top of my head. 

The mattress dips as Isak sits down. Andreas holds me tighter and I curl myself against his chest. He smells so good, sweat, dinner, the smells from the cooking, coffee, wine, his perfume, and something undefined that is only him, my Andreas.

Isak is just sitting there, probably watching me, that’s what he usually does when he doesn’t say anything. I imagine him biting his lip, shaking a bit as if he wonders if he can touch me or not, folding his hands in his lap to keep them somewhere, but he will soon reach out against me.

The rustling sound and the slight change in the mattress tell me before I feel his hand on my shoulder. He coughs. 

“What happened, Fredrik?” His voice is low, there is no accusation in it.

He draws his breath. “Even didn’t come to bed and I heard sobs from the living room, and I found him there. He...he wouldn’t tell me what you had said, just that he had failed and that you hated him.”

“I don’t hate him! I love him!” That my own dad can think I hate him is almost unbearable.

“I know, son.” His hand hugs my arm. “I know. But what happened?”

“I told him that I was afraid he’d kill himself.”

“Huh? Why?” Isak’s voice is surprised and confused. “But he is doing completely fine now, his medicines are working, life is stable, he hasn’t had a really bad episode for several years, Fredrik.” 

“No, not now. But since I was a kid. Since I was ten.”

His movement stills. “What?”

“He read up on bipolarity when he was ten, and found out about the suicide rates. Since then he has been afraid that Even would kill himself.” Andreas makes sense. His voice is clear and strong, he is to the point, the way Isak likes it.

“Oh, Fredrik.” Dad is suddenly behind me, his arms around my chest, he is crushing me, but his movement was so fast and unexpected that my body doesn’t care. I just want to lie there, between these two men that I love, in an infinite loss for the third one.

“I am so sorry,” he mutters against me neck. “So so sorry.” His body shivers, he is crying, I want to hug him, I want to be hugged. So I sink into my boyfriend’s arms and let them both hug me, trying to just feel them, be in the moment, feel their bodies comfort me, feel my own body, not think about Even, not think about his pain, my pain, our pain, not now.

“I am so sorry,” Isak says again. “I… we thought it was the right thing to do. Telling you.”

“But it was,” I splutter in protest. “It was! I wanted to know, I needed to know! It was my own fault for not asking more, for googling, for not understanding that I should talk to someone…” I am blabbering now.

“No, it wasn’t your fault.” I feel both of them talking around me now, Andreas’ soft voice at the same as the desperate voice of my dad. 

“It wasn’t, Fredrik.” Dad is making wet spots on my shirt. “We should have seen it. Should have understood that you would try to find more information on your own, you were never the kind of kid who was happy with just being told.”

I smile. I never was, still am not. I have always been a researcher. I was never satisfied with normal books, I wanted references, fact-checking, thick books full of things I didn’t know I could know. So turning to the internet was just a normal thing in my life, of course I knew not everything on the internet was fact checked and I would normally turn to balanced sources, to peer-reviewed books in the library, discuss it with someone. But this matter was too much, after I read that article I just couldn’t handle more. The words were already etched into my mind, and I didn’t want to read them anymore.

“I need to see dad,” I mutter. I just have to feel him, to touch him, pull him towards me, know that he is here, let him know I am.

They let go of me, both of them reluctant, both of them holding me as long as they can, both of them wanting to go with me.

But I know I have to do this on my own. I have to apologize to him for telling him, for ruining this Christmas, this night, this moment. I have to receive his apology, I need to hear him say that he is sorry, that they didn’t see the burden they made me put on myself.

I join my dad in his bed. He is curled under the covers, facing the wall in the darkness. His back is turned against me as I enter the room, a small bump under the blankets. I can barely see his hair on the pillow, only lightened by the yellow shine from the lights outside seeping in between the curtains. He shivers as I enter, as if he wants to shrug away whoever comes in.

I crawl under the duvet, it’s an endless piece of soft fabric enclosing over us, it feels like a mile long as I lift it and begins my way towards him.

His body is stiff under my arm. He tries to push me away, his arm feels strong, but I know I am stronger as I put my arm around him and forces him towards me. He stills for a few seconds, then falls into my arms, relaxing and becoming soft again. 

He finally lets me in. I can finally lie there, close to him, feel his heartbeat against my palm, and his chest moving steadily, in and out, under my arm. I can rest in my bed, just like I wanted to when I was a kid, and this time he is not pushing me away.

We shed a lot of tears last night, and now I am once more the little ten year old boy, scared of the realities appearing around me. But this time my dads are here, finally here, holding, consoling, assuring me that even though realities may be harsh, they will tell me about them when it is necessary. And I realize that the fear of my dad taking his own life was not the worst one, even if it was the most devastating one. What I feared most was that they wouldn’t tell me, that they would shield me against realities, that they would think it was in my interest not to know. But I already knew, so I had to know.

When I wake up on Christmas Day, it’s with my dad’s arms on one side and Andreas’ on the other. Andreas is balancing on the edge of the bed, clinging to me to avoid sliding down, then Even is glued to my back, between myself and Isak, whose arm is holding both me and Even. Even is drooling, there is a wet spot next to his mouth. Hopefully Isak isn’t drooling in his hair.

I carefully starts to unwrap myself from all the arms. I consider letting Andreas sleep some more, but it will be impossible to get out of bed without at least waking him up, probably pushing him off the bed on to the floor in the process. And it would probably be awkward to wake up in bed with your fathers-in-law and no boyfriend, despite coming from a very touchy family. But sometimes there is a difference between family and family, I guess.

I feel exhausted and my body is screaming for more sleep, so for a brief moment I am considering going back to my own bed to grab a few more hours. But Andreas silently drags me to the kitchen and sits me down by the bench while he makes me coffee. A triple espresso topped with water, just what my mind needs now.

We sit there without saying anything. The house is quiet, we’re probably the only ones awake. 

“Should we do something? Think about breakfast? Make a quick round of bread?”

“Nah. Let’s just have coffee and relax,” I say. The brown drink is slowly seeping into my brain, making me feel more normal again.

I want to go to the living room, sink down in the sofa with a soft blanket and have another cup of coffee while looking at the Christmas tree. But I don’t want to be reminded about yesterday. Not yet.

My body is crying. I am about to fall down from the bar chair, and even though I drain my coffee, I really need to sit somewhere else. Curl myself around a pillow, bury my shaky body under a blanket, feel something soft and cosy around me.

“Andreas, can you do me a favour.” I bite my lip, uncertain if he will think I’m silly.

“Of course, Fredrik.” He stands at my service as I ask.

I sigh. “Could you please go into the living room and clean the table there? Remove the coffee cups and cognac glasses and all that.” I don’t look into his eyes. It’s kind of embarrassing that I can’t stand the thought of going into the room unless any proof that Even was there yesterday is removed.

“Of course.” He kisses my head and disappears.

I sit alone trying not to think too much. I don’t want my thoughts to spiral now, I just want this to be a normal Christmas Day without making drama.

Andreas comes back a minute later. I close my eyes as I hear him fumble with tableware. He opens the dishwasher and puts something inside it before closing it again, putting something into the kitchen sink.

“Come on, move,” he says, pulling me into the living room. I hold my breath while looking carefully around. Not a trace of Even. Not even his Christmas gifts, they were there yesterday, but Isak may have taken those.

Everything else is as it was yesterday. The Christmas tree, the decorations, the big dinner table with the white table cloth and the decorations, but not the mess of dirty plates, crumbles napkins and glasses sparkling despite their greasy spots. The pile of gifts is gone, of course, two bags filled to the brim with used paper are waiting to be brought to the recycling.

Thankful I sit down. The cushions are soft and I rest my back against them while throwing my neck back and closing my eyes. The eyelids are heavy and feels sore, I just want to rest them. I close them for a moment.

I wake up again later. I am lying down with a blanket above me, clutching a pillow against my chest. My head is in Andreas’ lap. His hand is playing carefully with my hair, it tickles a bit. 

“Hey.” He looks down at me.

“Hey.” My voice is rasp. I look around, trying to figure out what time it is. “I think I fell asleep.”

He smiles at me. “You sat down here while I was getting more coffee, and when I came back you were gone.” He nods towards a full cup on the table. “Probably cold now, do you want a new one?”

I scrunch my nose. It’s itchy, I wonder if I need to sneeze. The pillows here are probably dusty. “I don’t know. Did I sleep long?”

“Half an hour, perhaps? I heard some steps upstairs, but I think it was just someone going to the toilet. Haven’t heard anything.”

At the same time my sister enters the living room. “Oh hello, guys, are you up already?” She looks around. “Or haven’t you gone to bed? Have you…?” She points at the sofa with a grimace.

Andreas laughs at her. “No, we have been sleeping. In a bed.” The latter words are drawn out slightly, as if he suddenly came to think of which bed we slept in.

“OK. Do we have any food? Have you baked?” She is already on her way into the kitchen again and we don’t bother yelling after her.

“I guess we should get up,” Andreas says. “It’s kind of out of character for you to be awake this early,” he says with a smirk.

“Yes.”

My body is heavy, as heavy as my head, and I don’t really want to move. But I know I have to, else we will have lots of comments as to why we are sitting here wearing only boxers, lots of jokes, lots of everything, and this is one of the mornings I feel my family is a bit too much, yet I know I can’t get away from them today, we can’t skip Christmas day breakfast, and especially not today.

I feel better after a shower. The warm water helped on my tensions, the hot, sexy man next to me under the shower head helped even more.

I look at us in the foggy mirror. His wet hair is dark, the cheeks he shaved yesterday are slightly scruffy again, it makes me feel him even more. He holds me while we both look into the mirror without saying anything, I wonder if we will be like this forever, like my dads, and then I think about dad again and the spiky stone in my belly starts churning again. 

“What is it?” Andreas whispers against my ear and hugs me tighter.

“Just thinking about my dad,” I say. “I just became 14 again and don’t want to see him.”

He smiles. “You are all adults. It’s gonna be ok. Come on, there are lots of voices already so I guess we’ll have coffee and warm rolls now.”

When we get back to the kitchen it looks like an organized mess. Matteo and Even are organizing the buffet, putting out lots of meat and fish and vegetable dishes, leftovers from yesterday, cheese, goodies from Germany. My mouth starts watering at the sight of it. 

“Fredrik! Hello!” It’s my grandmother hugging me from behind. 

“Hello!” I bend down a bit to hug her. They were always so strong, my grandparents, then my grandfather died and now even the ever-strong grandma Siri suddenly feels more frail. I feel a sharp pain in my heart at the thought of it.

“And Andreas! So good to see you again!” Grandma hugs him tightly before pulling back a bit. “I understand you are gonna stay around for a while,” she smiles.

“I was always gonna do that,” he protests, and she laughs, “of course you were, my son” before hugging him again.

The lunch is a busy frenzy of people, voices, laughter, questions, comments, chaos. After three hours with more than twenty people, I honestly don’t know how many we ended up being, at one point I think Maria’s boyfriend also turned up, but I was too busy talking to my niece about a science project she has in school, and when everyone left, Maria was also gone.

I sat at the opposite end of the table as Even, same side as him, so I didn’t talk to him at all, and anyway he was busy organizing lunch while I was busy being the nice and polite son finally home for Christmas. Andreas sat next to me and I could feel him against my thigh or arm or fingers whenever I needed. And I needed it a lot, apparently.

And that was it for Christmas Day. And the rest of Christmas. We didn’t talk. Or of course we talked, about lighter issues. The saltiness of the sheep ribs. The fluffiness of the mashed kahlrabi (the secret is a lot of butter and a hard whipping). Which guests we will have. Where the girls went partying and when they came home (because suddenly everyone but me and Andreas are sleeping with ear plugs these days). 

For once we let the awkwardness remain, leaving it for another time. We are good at talking in my family, sometimes too good, but sometimes we are good at leaving it, too, and of course also too good at that. I do think that Even and I should talk about it again, when we are less emotional, less stressed, less tired. Until then we will cope, we always do, and we do that by living as we usually do, drinking coffee, having dinner, snowball fights and snow forts, friendly fighting, hugging and bantering, and some late night wine that may have touched into the matters without really touching them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we are officially at the "fuck my life"-part of this ONE CHAPTER Christmas epilogue. We were done, or almost done, I just had to write one more chapter. 
> 
> Then I came up with the previous chapter, and, well. Not so done after all. We will get there, I swear, just not today. Maybe in three chapters. Maybe not.
> 
> Happy new year once again. Or Merry Christmas, as it still is in this universe.


	44. That Epilogue Christmassy thingy part 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David wraps up New Years Day and Matteo gives some solid life advice. Don't be a dick, people. OK?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are finally wrapping this up, with the last points of view. You will hopefully have all the answers, all the feels and all the love by the end of part 16 of this one chapter epilogue. 
> 
> Pagni and I said, in October, let's have a break and then come back in December and see how we feel about a one shot of them having their first Christmas in Oslo. Then I had ideas. Then Pagni had even more ideas. Here we are. 
> 
> The best thing? We have loved writing this, and most of all, we have loved that you have taken our boys, and just gone along with it. Fallen a little bit in love with this Universe the same way we have. THAT is why we write. Because it makes us happy. So happy reading lovely people, and HAPPY NEW YEAR!

##  DAVID 

When I was a small child, before, well I always refer to it as  _ the before _ , I dreamed of having this big blended rainbow family. I used to borrow books from the library about adoption. I used to pray that I would find a boy who would love me, the real me, sweeping in like a gallant knight riding a purple glittery unicorn and then we would just find these stray children and make ourselves a family. Little did I know, that only a few years later I would fracture the only family I had. I left them behind, ran away and never came back. I wasn’t welcome anyway. It took Laura, my sister, a few weeks to find me, and when she did, I told her to forget that I had ever existed. 

I tell Matteo the whole story, when he is sometimes at his lowest. Then I tell him that I love him, and that love lasts a lifetime. I tell him that I love our kids, so much that my chest feels like it’s about to explode. I love them even when I shout at them and scream and threaten them with various things that I never manage to fully implement. I shut off the Wifi. They hack the router. I tell them that I will not pay their phone contracts anymore. To be honest I have no idea where I would go to cancel them. 

Laura refused to leave my side once she found me, and whilst she still keeps in contact with our parents, she never went back home either. She found us a cheap flat, paid the rent and made me go back to school. I sometimes shudder at how easily my life could have taken a different path. I could have been the kid on the streets. The nameless victim in the news. I could have lost out on all this, and it still makes me want to cry. 

My parents are the ones who lost out, and they not only lost out on their youngest child, the one that was defect. That’s what my father called it, having a defect. I was supposed to conform to their ideals and traditions and make them proud. I was never going to do either, and Laura has turned out fine. My parents lost her too, and that breaks my heart. If that had been me? My kids? What were they thinking? Did they have so little love for us that they just let us go? I would have fought for my three, fought every battle, on the frontline with my shield and sword. I would die for my family, and that is not a lie. 

Anyway, Laura and I have both gotten over our guilt trips. I used to think I took her family from her. She sat me down and explained, that if I hadn’t left, she would never have had the guts to stand up for herself either. I took a stand. She followed. We both turned out ok. We have families, and we are loved. She is so very very much loved. 

Which brings me back to the man who sleeps peacefully in the bed next to me. It is New Years Day, and that is another year gone. Just like that. We did all the usual things last night. Fancy dinner, folded napkins and bottle after bottle of wine. We watched silly things on TV, played that ancient boardgame that Isak rolls out every year, and then we drank some more. Had dessert. Toasted in champagne and watched the sky explode outside, all the colours of the rainbow lighting up the sky. 

This year gone, a year that doesn’t stand out too much from the one before. The girls are well on their way to finding careers. Andreas is amazing. He is so passionate about his work, about his kids. His people. And now he has his Freddie back, a reality that fills me both with calm and a tiny bit of dread. 

I smile to myself and scratch the grey hair on my head. Matteo’s has gone all thin and straggly, mine is thick. I’m his silver fox, he says. He’s my nutty professor. The man that still makes me laugh every day. He’s so bloody stupid and pigheaded at times. Other times he overwhelms me with emotions. Sometimes he makes me so bloody angry that all I can do is scream. But he’s mine. Always.

Andreas, though. I lost my shit with him the other day, and I managed to apologize last night. Which was good. I hope. He’s a man, making his own path in life, and despite all my reservations, he belongs with the tall blonde man who makes his face light up like a beacon. Those two boys were meant to be, from the very first moment they met. Fredrik. Tall clever bright Fredrik, who would carry so much of his father’s loads, coming across so much older than his years, then he would somehow become a silly child, playing the fool and making us laugh and the next minute you would find him coming into the kitchen just to wrap his arms around Andreas waist and he would just stand there, breathing in the calm that he somehow seemed to find in my chaotic son. 

Andreas has struggled, but he is a different man today. He smiles. He has plans and he had excitedly hugged me and told me to prepare for chaos, as he was bringing his Freddie home. We don’t mind, of course we don’t. It’s no secret that there has been tensions in this house over the last couple of days, but we’re not that kind of friends. Not that kind of people. We live with moodswings and exhaustion and sadness and grief. We also live with love and hugs and laughter. I haven’t got the full story out of Even, but he’s not ready to talk to me yet, and Fredrik has closed in on himself. He’s OK, Andreas assures me. Just figuring things out. 

I always wanted a big messy chaotic rainbow family. I wanted unconditional love. I wanted my children to be close, tied by invisible bonds of support and belonging. Bonds that I would never allow them to break. 

I leave Matteo to sleep in the bed where we have slept every Christmas for the last twelve years. It’s home, like the cottage at Aunt Bella’s, like our flat in the leafy part of Berlin. I close the door gently, letting the dressing gown hanging off the bedpost wrap around my body. My body. It’s mine and I have grown into it like an old comfortable pair of slippers. It’s not perfect, and never will be, but it is what I was dealt, and however much I tried to change it, it fought back. Now it is what it is. Mine. Firm and muscular and jaded in places, but it also bears the scars of a life of struggles, and the birth of my brood.

I gave birth to three babies, who have grown into beautiful souls. Well, they swear like those gangsters on TV, and have zero table manners and have completely failed at ever cleaning the bathroom, but they have other traits that I admire, and these bloody kids make me so fucking proud. Pardon the language. 

Lottie has a way with Even, where she wraps him round his fingers and makes him smile. She indulges him and praises him and he proudly shows me the texts she sends him. He loves her like a daughter. 

“Love is not defined by blood,” he had said to me, one evening on some beach in Portugal, another holiday among all those we have spent together. “Maria and Fredrik carry none of my genes, none of my blood. Does that mean that I love them any less than Isak does, who is their biological father? Nope. It has never meant shit. Those kids were mine from the first time I saw them and I don’t care what science and any kind of paperwork tries to prove. I am a father. They are my kids. Same goes for yours. If anything ever happened to myself, or Isak….”

“Nothing is ever going to happen to you or Isak,” I had said sternly. Because. That’s what you say, despite knowing how fragile life can be.

“If any thing happened to you or Matteo, do you think we would abandon the kids? I would be on the next plane to bring them home, you need to know that. They would be looked after, however we had to change our lives to fit. Lils and Lots and Andreas are my kids too.”

“Our kids love each other,” I had replied. “They are family, and I hope they will always be.”

“Some of our kids love each other a little more than the others,” he had laughed. 

Yeah, like we didn't all know. Andreas and Fredrik had been lying in the sand, further away, their hands entwined and their feet touching, talking animatedly to each other like two teenaged boys do. They had always been something else, and still are as my son comes stumbling into the kitchen, his chest bare and he is wearing Fredrik’s joggers, even I know that. 

“Hi Vati,” he says and snuggles into my embrace. He’s still sleepwarm, smelling of sheets and sweat and ...yeah. My son has sex. A lot. 

“Hi my baby,” I whisper. 

He plonks himself down at the table, like the spoilt brat he is, while I move around the kitchen like it’s my own, opening the cupboards to put my hands on the things I need. I’m as at home here as I am in our own home, the familiar looking packets and chipped coffee cups. We don’t even bring our own coffee anymore, Isak having Matteo’s favourite blend delivered here twice a year. He drinks it himself, says the flavour reminds him of good times. 

I press the button on the coffee maker, and sit down opposite my son, reaching out to grab his hands. I stroke them, the young soft skin against my gravelly dry fingers. 

“How are you?” I say softly. “Are you coping with all this?”

“I’m good,” he says, his smile reassuring. “I just feel...Vati, I feel like such a fool. I have wasted all this time being stupid and pigheaded, I should have spent the last couple of years in America with Freddie, I should have been there with him, supporting him. I should have been happy, instead of being in Berlin letting the best years of my life waste away.”

“Life moves in mysterious ways,” I say, laughing at myself trying to be all old and wise. I am neither. “But had you gone with him to America? Perhaps you wouldn’t have made it. Perhaps it would have broken both of you. Instead you grew up and both of you figured out what you really wanted.”

“I want him. I need to be with him, because he makes me a better person. I am calmer with him. Things are less chaotic in my head when he is next to me, it sounds weird, but he always calmed me down. I didn’t have to try so hard with him, because he didn’t want me to be anything else but me. I fucked that up, so badly. I hurt him, Vati, and now I feel like I have to spend the rest of my life making it up to him.”

“I spent years thinking I had ruined Auntie Laura’s life, darling. Don’t ride that guilt trip. You have to let it all go, all that happened in the past, it just happened. There is nothing you can do to change it, so you need to focus all your energy now on being happy. If you are happy, Fredrik will be happy!”

“Just don’t be a dick,” Matteo says, stumbling into the room, ruffling his sons hair, and then smacking his palm on our firstborn’s head. Like he does. Then he just stands there, looking stunned like he has just completely forgotten what he was going to do.

“I won’t be a dick,” Andreas says back, pouting at him bringing that one up again. 

Our son was a dick. There is no beating around that bush. 

“You just need to not go on holiday, with the love of your life, and you need not to invite some girl who has an obvious infatuation with you, to stay with you, and then you need not to pretend that you are interested in her, and perhaps you should not make her sleep in your room. That one was on us. We should have put our foot down and said no.”

“I was nineteen, Vati.” Andreas sighs. “You never said no to anything I did. And even if you had said no, I would have brought her anyway. I was being a dick, remember?”

“You were a complete twatface,” Matteo says. Like it’s normal. And OK. It was neither.

“Matteo, let’s not drag up the past.” I try to keep my voice soft, because there is nothing more unattractive than a full blown family argument early in the morning when staying with friends. Good start to a new year too. Andreas just sighs, like he can sense my total discomfort with where this conversation is heading. 

“The kid needs to hear it.” Matteo grunts and pulls out a chair and sits himself down, grabbing and sipping my coffee with a satisfied hum. 

“I only did it because I was angry at him,” Andreas mutters. 

“You had a girl sleeping in your room, a girl who was totally besotted with you, and where did you sleep at night, kid?” Matteo stares at Andreas like he has just admitted to running off with some terror group. Well same. Same same. 

“I slept on the floor next to his bed. He wouldn’t let me lie next to him,” my son admits, and he can’t even look up. 

“ _ That _ was the problem,” Matteo says, like he is surgically removing that small blot of a disaster from our collective memories. Talk about a week full of tension, despite all nine of us staying in a house the size of a small castle. With one infatuated young German Cinderella in tow. 

“I know,” Andreas says, and for once he is sitting up at the table, his back straight and he is actually looking at his father. Wow. “I was in love with him and at the same time I hated him, then I couldn't sleep if he wasn’t next to me, and yet he didn’t want me there and I wanted to be anywhere but where I was. I wanted to run away and never come back. But I needed to be with him.”

“You were with him alright, we all heard that part. And I drove the poor girl to the station the next day.” Matteo slams his cup down on the table surface and stares at our son.

“I know.” Andreas sounds deflated again. “I apologize. And can we please make a pact not to bring this up ever again? Turn a new leaf and all that?”

“What are we supposed to erase from our memories?” Lottie sweeps past, her hair tousled and messy, wearing some ridiculous penguin onesie as she elbows her way onto Matteo’s lap, blowing me a kiss in the process. 

“Not even a proper Happy New Years kiss?” I wave my fist in the air and she just laughs. My beautiful girl. 

“Don’t be a dick,” Matteo says sternly, staring down our son across the table. 

“I won’t be a dick,” Andreas says back, his gaze firm on my husband. 

“I agree,” Lottie snorts. “Don’t fuck up. Maria will have your balls on a plate if you do, and I will be right there helping her fry them.”

“I’m a surgeon. I could remove your balls in your sleep and you wouldn’t even know what had hit you,” my darling husband says. 

“Matteo!” I boom. Because now we are taking this a little too far. 

“Good one, Papi.” Lottie laughs and fistbumps my Matteo who is just laughing like he’s some stupid teenager. Well he still is. 

“Behave,” I say and yeah. I roll my eyes and sigh. Because kids. People. I kind of just want to go back to bed now and read my book and be left to chill for a while. 

“Morning!” Isak says far too cheerfully, waltzing through the door and picking up a cup from the dish rack on the way. Where he stops and stares at us. 

“Where is the Champagne?”

“Oh shit, I left it out in the snow last night, it will be frozen solid by now!” Matteo scrambles up, almost letting Lottie drop on the floor as he moves towards the front door, instead bumping head first into Fredrik, carrying an armful of champagne bottles. 

“I rescued them,” he says, winking at Matteo who relieves him of his load, lining the bottles up on the worktop as Lottie starts lifting down the glasses from the shelf. 

“Where’s Lils?” Fredrik asks, before walking over and giving Andreas a quick kiss. My boy. 

I am going all soppy in my old age, because Andreas looks so bloody happy that it breaks my heart to realize how unhappy he must have been without this guy. Fredrik. The guy who is now thundering up the stairs causing havoc as we can hear the girls screaming upstairs, no doubt from him throwing himself at them in their beds. Pulling off blankets. Squirting them with water. All the normal stuff. 

Then of course Even turns up, and suddenly we are all cramped into a small suburban kitchen, holding up champagne glasses and toasting to the first day of the new year. Like we have done every New Years Day morning for the last 12 years. We toast to friendships. To new beginnings. 

To not being a dick, and to liking dicks too, because it seems we all do. To Andreas and Fredrik for  _ finally _ getting their  _ shit together _ . (That one was all on Lilly, whilst I was threatening to wash my darling daughter’s mouth out with soap.)

Finally, we toast to love. In all shapes and forms. In whatever way it comest. We toast to being loved. To family. To us. Because without each other, to quote my daughter again, _where the fuck would we have been and who the hell would we have become?_


	45. That Epilogue Christmassy thingy part 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good bye....

**MARIA**

The house is empty. Quiet. Silent. Deafeningly silent.

It’s been two comfortable weeks. Cosy, overwhelming, full of people, but comfortable. Not a second alone, except in the bathroom, and for some of us not even that has been a solo moment.

Now they are gone. All of them. My dads have gone with everyone to the airport, Fredrik is going with Andreas and who knows when he will be back here again. Lilly and Lottie have left like a whirlwind, leaving my room in a mess. I really don’t know why dad was so insistent that I cleaned and tidied here before they arrived. Once their suitcases are opened it looks like an explosion anyway. Clothes strewn all over the floor, hung on any hook and my chairs are filled in a moment. We all sleep in my king size bed now, which leaves more space on the floor since we don’t have to use the inflatable beds or mattresses on the floor.

I look around and sigh. I should clean up. Pack my bag. Throw the linen and the pile of towels lying in a corner in the washing machine. Vacuum. Empty the trash. Take the empty champagne bottles to the recycling, or at least put them in a bag by the door so dads can take them. After all it’s their house, they will fix it. But I can pretend to be grown up and responsible.

Instead I groan and sit down. Close my eyes and rest my elbows on my knees. The weight on the small, hard spot is uncomfortable, but I suddenly don’t have energy to move my arms into a better position. My eyes are sore, I concentrate on my breathing, I don’t want to cry now, I am not lonely, I am just tired after two weeks of intense family life.

I don’t know if I will ever have my own family, not besides the one I got at birth, I mean. And Lots and Lils and the others, but that’s not what I mean now.

I thought I was. I thought I had found the one, the one to share life with, the one that I wanted. But I have started doubting more, the longer I have been with him. I am into men like the rest of my family, or _Wir mögen Schwänze_ , as Lottie says. At least most of the time. I met this Belgian beauty at a party in Antwerp, when I visited a friend there. She was dark and genuinely beautiful and very sexy, and had a tongue of another world, but she was not the one either. Just a fling.

Apparently my guy is also a fling. Matias, short and dark and virile, his parents are from Argentina and he has been dancing tango since he was five. We talked about life, past and future, about values and what we want to do, and we seemed to align well. He wanted to go to Latin America to work, plant trees, save the jungle, small monkeys, snakes, medical plants, his plans were grandiose and he was inspiring and eager.

I wanted to go with him, not because it was him, of course, but because the causes were important. Something to live for, something to sacrifice my current life for. I could teach there, science, Maths, English, discover gifted kids and help them into the future. I started learning Spanish several years ago, because Matias and his plans have been with me for a while.

And for a while I did. We went to Argentina, Ecuador, Guatemala. Teaching and planting, cleaning seabirds and marking penguin nests, doing what a lot of wealthy kids do, according to those we met when we travelled around there.

Then his engagement has grown and mine has kind of shrunk. His plans are getting less grandiose and more practical, he is writing articles and making petitions and contacting people, and I have been postponing it all, all I have done is flying less and eating more vegan.

I finally got a permanent position as a teacher this year, and that’s really hard to get in Oslo, even if it is only in one of the mediocre suburban schools, not in any of the prestigious city schools or science oriented schools. But it’s a start to my career, and I don’t know if I am ready to give it up. The job made it possible to buy my own flat, it’s not big, a one-bedroom north-facing ground floor apartment at Vestlia, half an hour by metro then 15 minutes walk from the station, but it’s mine and even sharing it with someone else seems strange.

I called him on New Year’s Eve. He was invited to celebrate with us, to have dinner here before the six of us were going out, Lils and Lots and the boys and us, but he bailed at the last second, claiming he took the tram in the wrong direction and now it would be too late and I could hear music and cheering in the background.

I didn’t even suggest he could take an Uber, I just disconnected and went to dinner, muttering that he wouldn’t come, and then the new neighbours stumbled in, a Physicist and his husband, and everybody became busy with them and nobody interfered with me.

He is an interesting guy, the new neighbour. He is working with superconductors. I did a project on that during my studies, I was at CERN for a semester, before deciding I’d rather do teaching than research so I changed my main a bit for my master to make it more relevant. I spent some time talking to him, it was nice to chat about old acquaintances at CERN, he knows my tutor there and he updates me a bit. Sometimes I regret backing off from research. It would have been cool to do that, too, study, travel, read, write, think, not the mess that the school year is about cramming enough information into their head before their exams, starting below zero for some and aiming at getting them all up to a better than average mark. Which is of course impossible, since the marks are adjusted around an arithmetic average, but hey.

Somehow I wonder if I should stick with Matias anyway. If I should just straighten myself up and realize that there are more important things in life than a job and a nice flat. He is nice and cute and polite, and everybody likes him, I think. At least nobody has said anything bad about him. Lilly loved him at first sight and tried to get him to introduce her to his friends, which he willingly did, she said she wanted a Norwegian boyfriend, but I think she was a bit too young for them. And the bar was really not Matias' kind of place, I am not sure why we ended up there. But going out with two 20 year old girls isn’t always easy, most cool places you have to be 21 or 24 to get into, and while the girls are cute and well-behaved, they still are asked for ID.

Maybe I should just go all in for Matias, maybe he is the one even though it doesn’t feel like it. Everyone can’t have the same relationship as Fredrik and Andreas, or stay together for what will eventually be a lifetime, like my fathers or David and Matteo. Maybe I should settle with Matias, go the flow with him, to Latin-America, to save the climate, don’t be so selfish and only think about my job. Maybe my passions will come back, my passion for Matias, and my passion for the climate and the earth and politics and saving everything. Maybe I will discover that he can be the one after all.

I sigh as I look out of the window. I can see the garden, the naked apple trees, though covered in snow. The garden looks peaceful and quiet, the snow is muffling all the sounds and it’s clean and nice, the neighbouring gardens are the same, nice trees covered in snow, bushes looking like cotton buds.

It’s so different from the view from my own flat. My glassed veranda is next to the parking lot and even if the glassing shields a bit I do get my share of motors and shouting and angry people when someone has taken their parking place. The snow there is never white, except if I peek outside before anyone has moved their cars after a snowy night. The lot is transformed into a grey, salty mass of sleet once three cars have moved.

My phone dings from somewhere. I frantically try to find it, as I don’t remember where I put it and I suddenly realize I am all alone here and I will need the phone to get home.

It’s inside my pillow, I don’t know how it ended up there, of course. I thought I had it this morning, and then it shouldn’t be put back under my pillow, where I use to have it at night, when there is at least one L between me and the night stand.

I glance at the screen, I have a few notifications from whatsapp and Messenger and Tinder, which I have only because L&L wanted me to, but I swipe left on all of them, though.

I ignore the Tinder ones, I am not in the mood for it anyway. The group chat with the family is alive, though.

David: Fuck, we have to pay for five kilos overweight baggage.  
Matteo: what the heck? We were five kilos BELOW on the way here, and that was with the Christmas gifts?  
Isak: Even….  
Even: Uhm. Might have added some apple juice. And apple jam. And apple butter.  
Lilly: APPLE BUTTER 😍😍😍  
Lottie: Apple juice 🥰🍎❤  
David: My money…. 💸💸💸  
Even: Sorry, just tell me how much so can I pay for it. Didn’t mean to put that much into it, but you had so much space.  
Matteo: That’s because I brought five kilos of cheese and six bottles of Riesling for you. Bulky as shit. But don’t worry. We will pay. And enjoy the exclusive apple juice when we get home. No juice for Monday breakfast, Lottie. Only weekends!  
Lottie: Tuesdays then?  
Matteo: Weekend!  
Lottie: 😍?  
Matteo: No, Lottie. WEEKENDS.  
Lilly: Has anyone seen my wallet?  
Lottie: Have you checked your purse? And pockets?  
Lilly: YES!  
Lottie: Inside your suitcase too? Don’t you remember when Vati forgot the keys to our flat and had to pay a locksmith a fortune to get us in. And then he found them immediately once he started unpacking the suitcase.  
David: Enough!  
Lilly: No, it’s not there. Maria, can you see if it’s in your room?  
Lottie: Or in the bathroom. Or in the kitchen. Or hallway. Or Fredrik’s room.  
Lilly: Ewwww, not Fredrik’s room. It reeks.  
Lottie: Of sex.  
Andreas: Hey girls.  
Lottie: Hey Dreas. Woke up from the sex haze?  
Lilly: Sex arse?  
Lottie: It rhymes! Sex haze, sex arse!  
Fredrik: More like sex ace.  
Andreas: ❤🍆♠️  
Lilly: Maria! Are you there?  
Maria: Sorry, couldn’t find my phone. Can’t find your wallet either, Lilly. I have checked everywhere.  
Lottie: Under the pillow too?  
Maria: Oh, there it was.  
Lottie: I swear, that pillow swallows everything.  
Maria: yeah, took my phone, too. Swallow pillow, it’s almost kind of a rhyme.  
Lilly: But you found my wallet? You are an angel 😍❤  
Maria: Yeah, but how do I get it to you? Oh, I know, you can borrow money from Fredrik.  
Fredrik: From me?  
Maria: You are Lilly’s family now, for real. You need to up your game to make sure they like you and accept you.  
Lottie: Fuck, I have forgotten my pills.  
Maria: The antibabypills?  
Lottie: Yes!  
Maria: Fuck.  
Lottie: That was the plan…  
Lilly: Maybe you can borrow them from Fredrik too, haha. He is family!  
David: Is there anything you haven’t told us, Fredrik?  
Lottie: He is busy. Smooching Andreas.  
Fredrik: You can have my condoms.  
Lilly: Don’t you need them yourself?  
Andreas: Ouch. Fredrik…  
Matteo: Don’t you use condoms? Have you been tested? Both of you? You know that viruses can be dormant for a long time and you have only been back together for two weeks??  
Isak: Fredrik, what’s going on? We did have The Talk TM with you, didn’t we?  
Even: Yes we did. Oh my god, we did.  
Isak: Uhm, yes we did.  
Fredrik: I am clean and Andreas is clean and besides I trust him.  
Isak: You can’t trust anyone!  
Matteo: You can’t trust anyone!  
Fredrik: Jeeeezuz.  
Lilly: I think they left.  
Andreas: Yes we left you, morons, and besides it’s only been Fredrik since like forever.. Well if you count an aborted blowjob.  
Fredrik: Andreas, maybe we should go to Copenhagen instead. Get a flat there and just ignore these people.  
Andreas: Or Belgium. Antwerp, you could have that guest researcher’s job?  
Fredrik: Or Rome. Or Madrid. Or Austin.  
David: Why Austin? Why not Detroit if you have to go to America?  
Fredrik: Well, Santa Barbara then. I can probably get a job at UCSB. At least teaching assistant.  
Lottie: Maria, can you see if you can find my pills?  
Maria: Any idea where?  
Lottie: ... bathroom?  
Maria: Nope.  
Lilly: The Swallow Pillow?  
Maria: Actually it’s there. How come the Swallow Pillow swallows everything?  
Lottie: Yay! But how do I get them back?  
Lilly: Borrow condoms from Fredrik and get Maria to send you your pills.  
Maria: Uhm, Lottie, you haven’t taken your pills for six days.  
Matteo: Lottie, you are not allowed to have sex for a month!  
Even: I thought it was two weeks?  
Lilly: You misplaced your pills a week ago and started a new sheet. Did you actually check your make up-bag?  
Lottie: Oh, here it is. Calm down, Papi, I have taken all of them. [Sending a photo of an up to date blister sheet.]

I shake my head and smile. They are a mess, my family, all of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So long and thanks for all the fish. Or meat, biscuits, wine, coffee, whatever.
> 
> It was October and we had FINALLY finished this fic. With a proper epilogue, set a few months later etc etc.  
> It was November and we thought "hm, what about a Christmas epilogue".  
> It was December and Sophia sendt Pagni the first chapter and said "you are gonna hate me now".
> 
> Pagni said "I will never hate you".  
> Pagni read and was slightly surprised and impressed and repeated that she would never hate Sophia.  
> 3 weeks, 16 chapters and about 46000 words later later Pagni still doesn't hate Sophia.  
> And still ONE chapter left. Today I mean it. Let's give naked cleaners on safari for infinity a chance now, shall we?


	46. That Epilogue Christmassy thingy Part 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lets go out with a bang, shall we? Meet Lilly Florenzi-Schreibner. She has issues. Things to say. And a crush she needs to....crush.

## LILLY 

  
  


Going back to Uni was never going to be fun, and my body was screaming with exhaustion this morning when I rolled out of bed. I haven’t been to the gym in weeks, and my head is hurting with dehydration and, well. School. Ugh. 

I miss them all, but it’s, in a way, nice to be back to normality. I love when we go away with the Norwegians, and I love when they come here. It just makes things fun, and different and the whole family take on a different dynamic. It works. In some messed up way. 

I’m exhausted. I always am when it’s all over. I love spending time with Maria, and Isak and I seem to have found a new level of pseudo friendship. We went to this adult toyshop and I made Isak squirm with embarrassment calling him Daddy all over the shop and begging for him to buy me kinky sex toys. Apparently he had ordered something for uncle Even and he wouldn’t let me see it, but then he still showed me and it was so inappropriate that we were both screaming with laughter. I have no idea what the shop assistant made of it, but it was fun. 

I saw a different side of Isak, and we had a good talk. He told me that life is not always easy, but that I should go and live it. Not let things hold me back. Live in the now.

I know what he means, and I doubt he knows all my deep dark secrets, but for a moment there, perhaps he did. Because secrets are no good to anyone. I know that. 

I have been in love with someone I can never have since I was a little girl. Yeah. Clever. I know. I have fantasized and dreamed and wanted and needed and made up every fairytale ending in the world in my head. I know I don’t stand a bloody chance with Fredrik. He is just. Well. He’s always been the man of my dreams. The golden prince charming with the big smile. I fell in love with him, and he fell in love with my big brother. That’s the story. End of. 

It didn’t help me as a hapless teenager though. I sat on his lap and I hugged him and he cried into my hair. It was never for me. It was all over Andreas and I held him and shushed him and then we talked. A lot. He texted me and I texted him. 

I was always in love with him. Stupid. I know. I never told anyone, because, Andreas? Yeah? Talk about messed up. 

I told Fredrik that I loved him when I was 18, just to get it off my chest. I wrote him this long rambling message spilling my guts out all over the floor. He rang me straight back and told me he loved me too, and then talked about the weather. 

I think I cried for a week. Bloody boys, fucking hell. 

Which of course makes my mind play back the awkward conversation we had on New Years Eve, where Fredrik suddenly grabbed me and then grabbed my coat and pushed me out the front door and said we were going for a walk. 

“Where’s Andreas?” I had snapped, pulling my hat over my head. 

“Asleep,” he had muttered and tied the laces on his boots. Stomped his feet in the snow. Nodded his head at me like I was supposed to understand.

“Fucked him to oblivion again, I assume,” I had snarled. Yeah. It’s hard to be friendly when your heart is broken. That’s me being over-dramatic by the way. Like always. 

We had walked in silence for a while, the trees covered in heavy snow, dripping big chunks of it along the path down towards the forest. 

“I love you Lils, and I want you to be happy,” he had started. 

“I will be. One day,” I had almost whispered back. 

“You are my baby sister, but you are also one of my best friends in the world. I have told you things I haven’t told anyone else, ever. I have cried with you, and we have laughed. And I know you and me are kind of messy at times, but I have tried to keep you sane, you have to know that. I push you away sometimes so you will go and find someone to love. Someone who will love you back and treat you like a princess, because I want you to have that. I want someone to love you like I love Andreas. Because it’s the best thing in the world to have someone hold your heart like that. 

“I know.” I say. For once I have no words. I don’t know what to say to him.

“Lils, you need to open your eyes to the world. Love is not found on bloody Tinder.”

“My friend Sabina just got married to a bloke she met on Tinder.”

  
“Shut up for a second and let me speak. I need to say things.”

“You have been thinking about this all week, haven’t you.” I laugh. Because I know him. He probably made a powerpoint presentation for me too. With a matching spreadsheet.

“Yup. I have notes on my phone, in case I miss out any of the important pointers that I am about to make,” he laughs, and throws his arm around my shoulders. 

I let myself be hugged. Because, _Hugging_? Ok?

“Talk, Fredrik.” I sound sterner than I mean. But this is probably going to be one of the most cringeworthy conversations of my life, so whatever.

“I want you to do something for me,” he says instead.

“Okay?”

“Next time you go to class. Just sit in the auditorium, and then look around. Really look. Observe the people around you, one by one. Some people will stare at you. A few will look bored. Some will be doing other things, texting and stuff, but then there will be someone, someone who will get caught in the act at looking at you. Following your gaze around the room, and when you look straight at them, they will look away. Blush. Pretend to be looking for a pen in their bag or something.”

“Nobody uses pens anymore,” I sigh. 

“Look. Just look, Lils. Because there will be someone, let’s call him, Tom. Tom will be sitting there with his heart in a knot, hoping that today will be the day you notice him. He will be sitting there hurting on the inside, because the love of his life doesn’t even know he exists. He will be blushing, because he doesn’t dare to speak to you, and he thinks even if he did you would blank him.”

“I’m not an arse hole,” I mutter.

“No, you are not. But you are missing out on that wonderful thing called love. You need to fall in love, for real. Not walk around crushing on me for the rest of your life.”

“I am not crushing on you,” I lie. 

“You need to fall in love, Lils.” He stops and grabs my face, pressing a small kiss to my forehead. “I love you, and I will love you forever, but we both know that Andreas is the love of my life, and I have never ever felt anything like what I feel for him, for anyone else. I want that for you. I want you to fall in love to the point where you think you are going insane when that other person is not there in your arms.”

“You can use pronouns, you know. I am into dudes. Nothing wrong with girls, but you don’t have to be all sensitive around me.”

“Whatever.” He smiles. “There is probably a Tom in that classroom, and you need to give him a chance.”

“What if this Tom is butt ugly and I don’t fancy him?”

“It doesn’t always matter. Worst case? He’s an idiot and you block him on Instagram. Or you might gain this quirky friend who will love you forever. You might break his heart and he will move on, and so will you. But he might also turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to you.”

“So I need to go to class, and figure out who Tom is,” I sigh. 

“Yes, you do.” He smiles. “And you need to be my little sister, and you need to promise that I will get to hold an epic speech at your wedding telling the story of how I made you to talk to Tom.”

“Tom is a figment of your fucked up imagination.” I hit him with my elbow in his ribs. Hard.

He hits me back. 

I still have the bruise, and I rub it gently with my hand, as I turn around in my seat. 

We are only a half-full class, as always. European Tax Law is not the most popular course on campus. It isn’t my favourite either, but I have always liked Math, and numbers are my thing, so I am going for a degree in International Economics. Like all the other losers in this room waiting for class to start. 

LILLY: I’m looking. In class. Can’t see this Tom dude anywhere. 

FREDRIK: He’s there. Keep looking.

LILLY: Stop it. You made this whole story up and now my head is fucked. I am looking for people who don’t exist anywhere but in your head. 

FREDRIK: Perhaps. But it was worth a shot?

LILLY: I’m scrolling through Tinder instead. At least the people on there are real. 

He sends me a load of emojis that make me laugh. Poor Fredrik. He left a two bedroom flat in California for a dump of a childhood room in Berlin, that comes equipped with my slob of a brother and the poor dude still hasn’t found a job. Not even an interview on the horizon, but then it has been the holidays so his timing has sucked. Andreas is obsessed with finding a flat all of a sudden, and has bought bloody pots and pans for them. And they have matching mugs. Sickening. Truly.

So yes, I have sex. It’s fun, and I like guys. I have a few friends who will put out when I need it, and a hook-up is a good way to let off steam. They don’t mean anything. Nothing more than fun times and a bit of embarrassing regret the next morning. I’m careful, and sensible. It’s never been enough though. I’m a bloody princess, that bit’s totally true and I want my fucking fairytale.

I let myself gaze around the room again, staring at people like I have lost the plot. Some of them are familiar, the guy from calculus class waves at me, and I stick my tongue out at him back. He’s got a girlfriend. I met her once too. 

There are a few older students. A gaggle of girls at the back laughing. Some nerdy dude talking on the phone and those hot blokes who wear ties. Stupid kids pretending to be all grown up. Nobody wears a tie at uni. 

Then I spot him. Which is like stupid, and I laugh out loud at myself, because for a second he was looking at me, I‘m quite sure. Staring. Then as soon as I looked at him, he looked away and pretended to look at his laptop. Then he looked again, and went bright red. 

Oops.

It’s stupid. I’m behaving like a creep here, but I pretend to text on my phone, and then I look up. Right at him. 

He drops his phone on the floor with an embarrassing clunk. Caught in the act, because he was definitely looking at me, and now he is dying on the inside, stuffing his laptop into his backpack ready to leave. 

Which I won’t let him, because I have a point to prove, and nothing would make me happier than to send Fredrik a bloody selfie of me and this Tom dude and then I can kick him in the nuts next time I see him. Because I am about to embarrass the fuck out of myself, as I scramble my things together and climb over the next row of seats. .

“Don’t leave!” I almost shout at the poor guy, throwing my bag down on the seat next to his. 

“I….ehhr. Sorry.” He stutters out. 

He’s kind of. Normal. Blonde hair falling heavy over his eyes. Totally nerdy glasses. A nervous smile and long arms. Wearing some kind of gamer t-shirt under his checked flannel shirt. I recognize the gaming logo, because, hello. Brothers. I have them. 

“Your name isn’t Tom, by any chance?” I huff out and plonk myself down, staring at him like the stalker I am. 

“No?” he says weakly. “Perhaps you are mistaking me for my brother. But he’s called Robin.” The guy says, looking a little terrified. 

“Okay?” I say and roll my eyes. Fucking Fredrik. 

“I’m Lilly.” I say instead and reach out to shake his hand.

“Carl.” The Tom dude says. I will have to stop calling him that in my head. Carl. Dude is Carl. Cool.

“Lilly.” I say and try to catch my breath. Again. Good conversation Lilly. 

“Lilly Florenzi-Schreibner.” He replies. “I know, I follow you on Insta.”

Now he is blushing again. Which makes me go all hot and bothered. WTF? 

“I mean, not like in stalking, but your account is kind of fun, I loved all the pictures from Norway. Is that your boyfriend, the tall guy with the man bun?”

This Carl guy is worse than me, talking at 300 miles an hour and his face is all red. Like he is seriously about to combust.

“Noooo.” I reply calmly. I hope. “He’s my brother’s boyfriend. They are like seriously in lurve. Can’t stop shagging. But that is a whole other story.”

“You have an identical twin sister,” he says. He’s a little calmer now. 

“Yes. Lottie. Much more fun than me. Studying to become a nurse.” Deep sigh. I get this _all_ the time. 

“I have a twin brother, Robin. He’s gone to France to do this big acting job. He’s an actor. I tried it once, got this part in a TV series, and only had 6 minutes of screentime. I got dumped. That was it. End of story. So, now I am going to be an accountant instead. I might get to manage Robin’s millions if I am lucky. He’s good. Sorry. I talk too much, can never control my mouth. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” I laugh. “You’re just like me, always getting told that I talk too much. I can’t shut up. It’s a genetic defect, I think.”

“It’s cute.” He says, and now he is blushing again.

“You have an identical twin brother.” I say, like this is brand new information. It is. I just didn’t take it in when he said it the first time. 

“Yeah, I thought you were mistaking me for him. I get that all the time, my brother is really cool and knows everyone.”

“Never met your brother.” I say, taking another deep breath. “Fredrik, that’s my brother’s boyfriend, he told me I had to do a challenge for him, to look around the room in my first class and find the guy called Tom who had a crush on me.”

“My name is not Tom.” He says, and smiles again. Like I am funny. I am not. I am fucking embarrassing.

“I know, but he said I had to look for the guy who was watching me, the one with the secret crush, who would be the man of my dreams. He said there was a guy somewhere who would be the love of my life and would make me fall in love. In class. Ridiculous, right?”

I stare at him, smiling back at me. 

“I can tick the box for the crush,” he says quietly. “You light up the room, and yeah. Sorry. I have been crushing on you for a while, but I know I am totally out of your league, and sorry about the staring. I like watching you. You are beautiful, I can’t help it.” 

He looks down, fiddling with the cover of his laptop.”

“I…” For once I can’t figure out what to say. 

“Class is about to start,” he says quietly. “You can leave me to die of embarrassment now.”

“I have to stay.” I lie. “Fredrik told me I had to sit next to you. I mean I have to sit here, because how else am I supposed to fall in love with you?”

“You could start by letting me buy you a coffee after this lecture, and then perhaps you could email me your notes, because I won’t be able to concentrate on anything Professor Helmut says with you sat next to me. I mean. You are Lilly Florenzi-Schreibner.”

“I’m good at notes. I like coffee,” I say weakly. Who is this dude? This total gamer nerd who is flooring me with his totally nerdy perfection. Fuck you, Fredrik. FUCK YOU.

I get my phone out and text Fredrik a load of angry emojis. He texts me love hearts back. 

“I’m nobody. I can’t even get a boyfriend.” I whisper as this Carl guy opens up his laptop and stares intensely at the lecturer who has fired up his first slide on the large screen at the front of the auditorium.

“Class is starting. Take notes. I am having a quiet freak out here.” 

The dude is smiling. His shoulders jumping with laughter. 

“I have stupid friends with benefits. I’m tired of hookups. I have a crush on my brother’s boyfriend. I am a fucking mess, Carl. I need to grow up and fall in love. I need to be treated like a princess apparently, well that’s what Fredrik said. I need someone to sweep me off my feet and kiss me in the morning, morning breath and all. My family is your worst fucking nightmare and my twin sister will kill you if you hurt me. Any questions?” 

I am smiling at his obvious struggle to stop himself laughing out loud. 

“I’m the black sheep of my family, and my twin brother is a star,” he whispers, still pretending that he is listening to Professor Helmut yap on about Brexit. ”I got 6 minutes of screentime. That was it. My acting career down the drain. I have a crush on the most beautiful girl in the world and she insists on sitting next to me in class. Bloody nightmare this. Have you got anything to eat? Because I feel like I am going to faint. Next thing, you will be following me on Instagram and my life will be over.”

“What’s your handle?” I giggle and open up the Instagram app on my phone. “Lilly’s dreamboat?” 

“Piss off.” He giggles, gesturing at Professor Helmut droning on in front of us.. “Lecture? Take notes.”

I reach into my bag and fish out the tin of Uncle Even’s biscuits that I stashed there earlier this morning. Pick one out with my fingertips and reach across so it’s right in front of his mouth. 

“Open wide,” I whisper. “Don’t faint. We need to listen to this. It’s ‘The impact of Brexit on European trade law’. It changed the laws of tax allowances in international trade quite dramatically. Very interesting. We can learn a lot from it.”

He tries to say something back, but he’s kind of spitting biscuit crumbs and closing his eyes and doing dreamy looks. Yeah, Uncle Even’s biscuits are kind of orgasmic, I can give him that.

“I’ll take notes” I continue. “ Don’t faint. Then we’re going for coffee later and I need to follow you on Insta. And I want to see pictures of your brother. We need to talk. I mean, you are going to sweep me off my feet and make me fall in love, so we have to make some plans? OK?”

I wink at him and fire up my laptop, pretending to be super interested in the lecture in front of us. 

I can see him shaking his head and laughing next to me. 

Whatever. 

Fredrik 0 - Lilly 1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to all of you who have read along, laughed, squirmed, commented and cheered us on in this universe. We have loved it. Every minute. 
> 
> And most of all thank you to the very very patient Pagni who has put up with all my cliffhangers, ideas and quirks. It has been an honor, a pleasure and such a laugh writing this. Thank you. It's been a blast. I'm thrilled that you still don't hate me. Give me a few months, and some more plot bunnies and you might just.....
> 
> Will there be more? No promises and no guarantees. But? You never know.....
> 
> Alt er love, Always, Sophia and Pagni x


End file.
